


Cuts and Bruises

by lilsmartass



Series: First Impressions and Second Chances [3]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Coulson is Awesome, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm still not disclosing the pairing, Pre-Slash, aftermath of unintentional bullying, don't make Pepper angry, emotion hurt/comfort, guilty!Steve, you won't like her when she's angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clint and Bruce

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: PG-13
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.
> 
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.
> 
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.
> 
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.
> 
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

** Cuts and Bruises **

 

_Sticks and stones may break my bones,_

_but words can also hurt me._

_Stones and sticks break only skin,_

_while words are ghosts that haunt me._

_Slant and curved the word-swords fall_

_to pierce and stick inside me._

_Bats and bricks may ache through bones,_

_but words can mortify me._

_Pain from words has left its scar_

_On mind and heart that’s tender._

_Cuts and bruises now have healed;_

_it’s words that I remember._

By Barrie Wade

 

**1**

They are all tired as they head back from the training exercise. Personally, Clint would have preferred to have showered and changed out of his heavy combat gear at HQ, but it wasn’t like that was an option for Stark, not unless he wanted to leave his armour there which is about as likely as Nat opening a nail parlour, and Steve is attached to his shield like a toddler with a blankie, so somehow they had ended up walking back in full gear. He and Stark are bringing up the rear, grumbling complaints at one another. Clint about the ease of sorting this all out at HQ instead of traipsing back in the hot sun and attracting any number of weird looks like they’re the four most dedicated cos-players ever, and Stark about he should have called a limo to take them all back.

Steve and Nat are out ahead. Ignoring them. Because they don’t get tired, or hot, or annoyed with camera phones clicking at them. Clint mutters something very uncomplimentary and kicks a rock. Stark looks like he might be about to smile and then swallows it down, shooting an uneasy look at Steve’s back, like he might have been caught about to say something not exactly nice, and at once the happy endorphin buzz that Clint is currently riding, the one making even the complaints funny, and the walk irritating instead of torturous on sore muscles and twitchy nerves twanging with this much attention, fades away. They’re not exactly the perfect team America thinks they are.

It’s obvious in the little things, the utter blankness behind Stark’s eyes for one as he tosses off complaints and insults out of reflex with no heart behind them, a mere imitation of his ever sarcastic self. “So,” Clint says in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning slightly closer to Stark and trying, again, to draw him in, “who do you think has the better ass, Tash or the Cap?” He knows Natasha hears him because she flicks her hair like she’s dislodging a particularly annoying fly and shimmies her hips. He gives Stark an easy smile as he waits for a response.

Stark looks for a second like he’s under attack. His eyes flick down to the helmet he’s carrying like he wishes he were wearing it and Clint immediately realises that he’s an idiot. Stark has no reason to believe that any answer he could give to this question will go well for him, but before he can open his mouth to take it back, Stark is smirking and pulling out a little in front of Clint himself. “Please, like either of them can compete with me. My ass is the best in this little group.”

Clint has to admire his abilities at deflection. He knows what Stark is doing and he still can’t stop himself from saying, “Oh yeah. Says who?”

“People magazine,” Stark smirks. “They love me.”

“You’re a jackass Stark,” he replies, but his words are as empty as Stark’s own now, smile slightly too fixed as he wishes, not for the first time, that he could unsay everything that he previously said to the man and go back to the beginning.

As he has every time he has been directly insulted, Stark falters slightly, subtly checking him for sincerity. He’s good at it, practiced, but obvious to Clint’s experienced eye and he curses himself again. This isn’t new behaviour. He must have been doing this before. That he didn’t notice is possibly more disturbing than the blue tinged memories he has from his time as Loki’s thrall, at least those actions aren’t his fault.

Natasha, clearly sensing his utter ineptitude turns, and Clint can’t help the bright was of relief. She’s so much better with people, and has at least never been actively cruel to Stark. But, as they approach the tower, Stark’s gaze has already slid past her, locking un-erringly on to something else. Like any well trained soldier, Clint’s own gaze follows Stark’s. He’s used to taking non-verbal cues from other people in a unit, and anything that can render Stark so still and focussed has the potential to be a threat.

It’s a figure. Too broad and muscular to be Loki despite the dark hair and, after only a second, Clint is able to make out Doctor Banner’s small, welcoming smile and uncertain stance.

Stark is beaming unrestrainedly, but he doesn’t bounce out front. Clint hopes that’s because he’s too tired and nothing more sinister.

Banner has seen them now too. He can hardly miss them. They look like a dirty, tired, circus troupe, and Clint would know. He walks forward to meet them himself. Steve greets him with a smile and a head nod, Nat takes a fractional step away from him which she masks with a pleasant query about his journey.

Banner’s gaze turns to him, but Stark’s restraint is apparently exhausted because he bounds forward now. “Brucie! Did you miss me?”

Banner raises an eyebrow slightly. “I missed running water.”

“Close enough. Come and live at my tower. It’s like an epic sleepover.” He side-eyes Steve. “Fury won’t mind.” It’s not a question, it’s a challenge.

Steve responds anyway, the hang dog expression Clint has become far too familiar with in his eyes as he says, “Of course not Tony. It’s your tower. You can have anyone you like there.” They all know that is actually not true, but none of them are going to begrudge Stark this. And besides, it’s already being called Avengers Tower by the public and they’ve already unspeakably hurt one Avenger. At least if they learn from their mistake it’s worth something.

“I thought Fury would want me somewhere…containable.”

It’s Clint who speaks up. “You have to see the tower Banner. It’s Hulk proof and there’s blast doors and Natasha’s the only person likely to make you angry there but you can just chuck all her girly shit in the incinerator if it pisses you off.”

Natasha scowls at him, an expression which promises revenge later and, safely shielded by Banner’s body and knowing she’s still far too wary of the Hulk to try anything, Clint beams at her.

“There’s actually no such thing as _Hulk proof_ -”

Stark is an odd combination of disgusted and disappointed. “Please don’t say stupid things to me Brucie-bear. I rely on you to save me from the idiocy I’m usually surrounded by. Of course it’s Hulk proof. Everything will be fine.”

“I can just…I’m sure SHIELD has measures in place…”

“No,” Steve says, calm and implacable. “No, you’re one of us, you aren’t going to be locked up Doctor Banner.”

Banner sighs slightly through his nose. “Alright.” He looks at Stark and smiles a genuine, if crooked smile, “Thank you.”

Stark waves a hand. “No problem. You can help me build things in the basement. I’m thinking about making every appliance in the tower sentient, then we can get rid of Cap’s chore schedule. Though there is the possibility of a civil war because the AI I tried to install in the blender has some personality issues.”

He doesn’t check to see how the joke has been taken this time, smirking at Banner instead, and more relaxed than Clint has ever seen him since he was loose limbed and barely conscious in that shawarma joint weeks ago. He doesn’t dare look at Steve to see if he’s noticed too, and finds himself instead looking at Natasha. She’s frowning, so slightly he thinks only he would ever see it, but obviously thinking about the lessons on unintentionally excluding people hard learned too. Her shoulders are still tense with a fear she would never admit to, but her voice is clear when she says, “We were going to order take out Doctor Banner, if you’d like to join us?”

Banner favours her with the same crooked smile, intentionally or otherwise pulling back a little, giving her space, “I’d love to, and it’s Bruce.”

Her smile warns a little. “Do you like Chinese Bruce?”

Clint can’t help but see Stark’s flinch at how easily they let Bruce become one of them and he bites his lip, wishing he could find some way to make this better.

*

“JARVIS?”

“Yes Doctor Banner?”

Bruce hesitated and paced in a small circle in his room, He’s almost certain he shouldn’t ask this question, but he’s become good at reading people after all his time on the run. Understanding body language is fundamental to breaking through a language or cultural barrier and he knows something is wrong. However, he might be prying, it makes something sick and heavy twist in his gut to know something is bothering Tony. He wants to help if he can, the other man has been nothing but good to him. “I don’t want you to break any confidences JARVIS but,” he sucks on his bottom lip, considers and then presses on, “but something is wrong with Tony. He was uneasy this evening. Twitchy. And not…not…” he spreads his hands helplessly. “Can you tell me why?”

The AI’s voice darkens a little, “Sir has not classified that information. But it is not…pleasant.”

“Tell me,” Bruce insists instantly, “I need to know if I’m going to help and if it’s not a secret…”

He sits on the edge of his bed as JARVIS begins to talk.

*

He knows his eyes glow green when Steve walks into the kitchen where he’s brewing a cup of tea by the way the super soldier checks himself in the doorway, coming to an uncertain stop. “Doctor?”

Bruce gives a smile that has a few too many teeth. He’s far from losing control, but usually he likes to project a calmer aura than this because just the reminder that he could lose control makes people uneasy around him in a way that he doesn’t like. “Steve,” he greets calmly. “How’re things? How did you all get on while I was in India?” He knows his tone does nothing to hide the direct challenge.

Steve, for his part, looks a bit like he’s facing a firing squad and is quite frankly relieved about it. He spreads his hands wide in the universal gesture of I’m-not-going-to-attack-you. To his credit, Bruce grudgingly acknowledges, he doesn’t feign ignorance or attempt denials or excuses. “I don’t have any excuses Bruce and I know he’s your friend. If someone had treated Clint like that I’d…” he trails off. His obvious relief at finally being offered his deserved punishment has vanished now and he just looks like a shamefaced little boy. It strikes Bruce abruptly how very _young_ he is.

Still, that realisation does little to quell the rage that he’s banked back by years of experience. He doesn’t want to hurt Steve, not really. He just wants the other man to know that he _could_ , that, unlike Tony, he can – and will – fight back. The Other Guy is a lumbering creature, and Bruce is clumsy and uncertain, but when he’s simmering like this, the Other Guy desperate to come out and instead held back, he moves with the graceful ease of a predator. He stands and moves towards Steve who doesn’t back up, instead he tilts his head very slightly, exposing his jugular like an offering. Bruce feels a sub-vocal growl rumble in his chest, but his voice is completely calm, and completely human, as he says, “What I don’t understand, is why you would accept _me_ when by SHIELD’s standards and the army’s standards, I’m a monster. And yet, my abilities as a scientist were the only thing you ever cared about and you never gave me a reason to doubt it was true. The negative parts of _my_ personality are hell of a lot more obvious, and hell of a lot more dangerous, than Tony’s and still…we never had a problem. He allows his voice to roughen, the Other Guy coming a little closer. He’s still in complete control, but he sounds far more vicious as he asks, “So what was wrong with him?”  

Steve doesn’t even flinch, and there is no challenge in his eyes as he explains, “I made a mistake. I heard a couple of negative things about him and saw things I thought confirmed what I had heard and never looked any deeper. Everything Tony did for us, everything he tried to do…I threw it back in his face, deliberately, because I thought he was something he wasn’t.”

Bruce pushes the Other Guy back a little, his voice and eyes becoming normal again, though he knows he still looks dangerous and he can feel the Other Guy, wary and watchful beneath his skin, ready at a moment’s notice. He is simply testing what JARVIS had told him when he asks, “And Clint’s excuse?”

Instantly, Steve changes. The acceptance that had so characterised him before hardens, becoming instead willingness to fight. “I’m the leader of this team. It was my call and my responsibility.”

“That isn’t what I asked.” Bruce’s heart is pounding beneath his ribs, the last time he pushed someone for information like this, he was screaming at Natasha, just to see what response his anger would provoke.

Steve’s lips tighten. “He wasn’t…It was my call. I should have been keeping a tighter watch on him, I knew he was struggling to reacclimatise after Loki. It was my fault.”

“You let a highly trained soldier with,” he almost says PTSD but catches himself at the last minute and changes his words to something he knows Steve will understand instead of muddying the waters because this is not about Clint, “shellshock beat a civilian.”

That’s something Steve can take the blame for, a shamed flush tinges his cheekbones pink and he quietly admits, “Yes,” in a low voice.

Bruce barely acknowledges the admission, “Or did you just think Clint deserved your protection more than Tony did?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t realise that Tony needed…I was stupid.”

“You were fooled by his public façade.”

Steve nods miserably.

Bruce’s lip curls back in a n out and out sneer. “Don’t let it happen again Captain. I don’t follow the commands of stupid people.”

*  

By the time Bruce reaches the lab Tony set up for him he feels calmer. He’s made his point, he’s channelled the impotent rage that had kept him awake all night into expressing his displeasure in a socially acceptable way, and he’s been able to repay Tony, at least a little, for all the things he said to various factions of SHIELD in his defence when he wanted to go off on his own after trashing the helicarrier. He’s ready to move forward now, putting the incident behind him and helping the others to do the same.

Until he realises that it isn’t just the others Tony is uneasy and hesitant around. Until the other man shows up about fifteen minutes after he arrives because, “JARVIS told me you’d discovered this. Isn’t it awesome? I’m a genius, tell me I’m a genius. Is there anything else you need?” and Bruce suddenly notices that he’s tense and fidgety, clearly second guessing some comments the instant after they come out of his mouth and obviously biting back others.

To be brutally honest, it’s probably not a bad thing that Tony has finally learned to be aware of exactly what is spilling out in his internal monologue and just how offensive it can be, but he should never have had to learn like this. Bruce feels the anger start to simmer up again.

The days he spends coaxing Tony to forget the awkward brain-to-mouth filter he’s forcing on himself and on not letting any obvious signs of the Other Guy out when it’s just the two of them take their toll. It doesn’t help that every interaction Tony has with the others is so awkward and stilted Bruce feels embarrassed. He blames himself bitterly for not being there. Really, what makes him any better than the others? Tony wasn’t super awesome at making friends, he’d told Bruce as much in an unguarded moment, and yet, Bruce had still assumed that his ego and wit and bullheadedness would carry him through. He hadn’t realised that having no one to translate his intentions to actions would isolate him completely. God, Bruce himself had told him that it was his fault, that he had been misinterpreting their actions, that _he_ should try harder. At the time, he had really felt like he _couldn’t_ stay. He had wanted to, but he knew if he did he would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for SHIELD and the next unbreakable cage. He needed to know Fury had told the truth about him being in the wind. But he could have stayed for a while, for Tony. He should have.


	2. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

** Cuts and Bruises **

 

Bruce is acting weird. It’s almost like he wants Tony to insult him, and he’s such an easy target. Not that Tony would ever be a dick to Bruce mostly he wants to wrap the man in bubble wrap and cuddle him and make sure no one ever tries to treat him like just a mindless animal ever again. Still, it’s pathetically easy to make him blush. What self-respecting middle aged scientist still blushes over the fact that the nub at the end of a battery is called a nipple? Really? Bruce Banner does apparently, and it’s just adorable. Tony wants to take advantage of this fact so, so much. But he’s trying hard to be a better person, to be the sort of person that Captain America might actually want to be friends with, so he’s doing his best not to rise to Bruce’s almost prodding and isn’t that a strange thought. Still, it’s in search of an escape from this decidedly un-Brucey behaviour that he heads up to the kitchen for a coffee, intending to crash in the communal room, which has the biggest TV and is the last place Bruce will ever think to look for him.

Rogers is already sitting there, his attention is mostly focussed on the small, blue pad he’s resting on his knees, but his eyes keep flickering up to the TV as he listens half-heartedly to a documentary on whales. For a moment, Tony wants to leave, habit curling cold fingers of dread around his heart at the sight of Rogers and the thought of what hurt he might inflict next with his too-seeing eyes which notice every single way in which Tony is broken and damaged and worthless. But he’s too slow, tiredness getting the better of him, and his fingers slide down the door frame while he’s still trying to edge backwards. The movement catches Rogers’ eye and he looks up sharply. Tony suppresses a flinch and some of the scalding liquid spills over his fingers, making him hiss.

“Tony,” Rogers says, in that soft tone he’s adopted around Tony, like he’s some hurt woodland animal, and he hates that almost more than the scathing condescension. “Did you…am I in your way? I can go…?”

“No.” Tony shakes his head, “No, no, you’re fine where you are. I was just…coffee.” Tony waves his cup like proof and hisses again as more slops down the side. “And then I thought but if you’re watching whales it’s cool, I just…”

Rogers flicks the TV off with a sharp, guilty motion. Really, he looks like the mousey girl in a teenage sitcom trying to hide something uncool from the hot guy, which Tony _is_ , but that analogy is just wrong, for so many reasons. “I was…I’m not watching it. It’s just for a bit of noise, just to keep me company.” His face contracts as he says the words, and his shoulders hunch down like he’s expecting a blow now that he’s revealed a vulnerability.

Tony almost wants to deal one, just because Rogers thinks that he _would_ , but he’s really not going to start throwing stones about being kept company by inanimate objects, because there’s no way that’s an argument he’s going to win. Besides, he’s relieved to see something more honest than the sugary sweet, making-nice-with-Tony thing Rogers’ has been doing for _days_ now. Captain America is supposed to be about justice and truth apple pie for all and OK, yes, it sucks (more than sucks) that he hates Tony, but it’s to be expected. He can deal with dislike, with honest hatred, but he doesn’t like smiles that say ‘friendship and camaraderie’ and mean ‘I’ll paralyse you and take your heart out of your chest as soon as you stop being useful.’ They put him on edge. He never said he didn’t have issues. So, instead he just shrugs uneasily, and grips his cup tighter, and says, “Well, see you.”

“Tony,” Rogers says and he sounds _pained_ , “don’t…It’s your tower. You can stay.”

“I don’t-”

“Stay. Please?”

And there is something fundamentally wrong with that pleading tone from Captain America, so Tony shrugs again and this time comes all the way into the room. He doesn’t skirt Rogers like he’s expecting him to lash out, because he is _not_ a battered wife nor an abused child, and Rogers is not going to reduce him to acting like one. He does cross to the chair furthest away from him though (what? It’s the most comfortable armchair and the one he would have sat in if he was alone anyway so shut up) and watches Rogers as he sinks into it.

Rogers regards him intently, eyes a deep soulful blue and filled with an anguish that would put dying baby animals on charity posters to shame. If they could bottle all the emotion Rogers that is projecting right now they could probably retire, safe in the knowledge that one squirt would have any enemy feeling too guilty to attack.

Tony, fortunately, is immune to guilt (ask Pepper) so he takes a sip of his coffee and doesn’t fidget uneasily at all. It’s Rogers who breaks first, turning his gaze away from Tony with a wince, as though he can’t bear to even look at him anymore. He fumbles the pad he’s holding for a second, as though he can’t remember what it is, and then returns hesitantly to his drawing.

No longer in danger of losing the staring contest, Tony’s eyes flit away too, flickering restlessly the room, but they are always drawn back to Rogers as though magnetised. Hunched over his pad like this, he is the perfect paradox. In the tight T-shirt, his broad, muscular shoulders are thrown into sharp relief, and the light glinting off his blond hair makes him look as young and innocent as a teenager. And for all the obvious power in his frame, his grip on the pencil is light and delicate. Tony can’t see what he’s drawing, but he remembers Auntie Peggy telling him once that Rogers was a wonderful artist. As he watches unabashedly, a blush crawls up Rogers’ face. He’s not unaware of the scrutiny then.

Just to be a dick, Tony stares for a moment longer, then he breaks the moment with, “Can I see?”

Rogers starts and the pencil in his hand cracks with a dull snap. His tongue flicks across his lips in a nervous gesture, and Tony’s about to take back the question, because yes, he’s a dick, but he never wants to see that trapped look on someone’s face ever again. “…Yeah. Okay,” Rogers stretches forward, pad loosely between his fingers.

Some instinct tells Tony that refusing it will make this worse, so he leans across and takes it. The picture is obviously only half finished, sketched out in its entirety, but half in mere flat outlines and the other half shaded and brought to life. It’s a simple storm raging over a pond, but something about it feels so… _melancholy_ that Tony, the last person to cry over art, feels the possibility of the threat of tears. “It uh goes with your whipped puppy look,” he says as lightly as he can manage, and hands it back.

Rogers stares intently at the pad. “I draw what I feel, I guess,” he admits softly.

Tony suspects this whole situation has become rather more emotional than he really wants to deal with. He can barely deal with his own emotions, much less someone else’s and Steve is so huge that if he starts crying Tony might get washed away, like that bit in _Alice in Wonderland_ and honestly, his life is quite weird enough without that. “Well, back to the grindstone,” he says nonchalantly, standing and stretching until his back pops. He can always avoid Bruce tomorrow, when this room is empty.

If possible, Rogers looks even worse at his words, “I…You don’t have to make anything for us, you know.”

“It’s all me, me, me with you, Steve. I’ll have you know I’m not building anything for you.” It’s true, but the words are harsher than he intends, his words are always harsher than he intends when his brain is so full of projects that he can hardly think and he can’t make any of them a reality, but his file doesn’t say he’s a _masochist_. Tony has no plans to get shot down again, especially not in front of Bruce this time. So, even though his mind is stuffed to bursting with ideas, he’s working only on the ideas from SI that Pepper has put in front of him.

“I…oh…Well, that’s, um, good. I know you have other things, I didn’t mean to imply…I just…I wanted you to know. You don’t have to make us anything, Tony. We don’t expect anything from you.”

Tony cocks his head and smiles with too many teeth. “So I can be as reckless and careless and thoughtless as I like, and I still get to stay an Avenger?”

“I…You have to stick to the rules Fury laid down for all of us but-”

“So you _do_ expect some things of me.”

Rogers sighs. “You are twisting what I’m saying. You don’t have to…you don’t have to do what I’ve spent the last two months accusing you of trying to do. You don’t have to _buy_ your place, it isn’t contingent on anything. As far as I’m concerned you earned the right to be an Avenger when you risked your life sending that bomb into space, and you earned it again when I treated you like dirt and you still came through for us every time we needed you.”

Tony just shrugs. He knows damn well that he deserved Rogers’ initial impressions of him. His unapologetic assholery was bound to come back and bite him in the end, honestly, it’s a miracle it’s taken this long. He’s far more distrustful of this sudden about-turn, this refusal to contradict him on anything. Most of the people who yes sir, no sir, three-bags-full sir him are the half-wits in his R&D department. The last strong-willed person he’d respected who’d bent to his whims with a smile like this left him dying in his own house, because he wasn’t building anything good anymore which yes, gives him panic attacks when he thinks about the fact that he’s _not_ building anything for the Avengers anymore, but the house isn’t empty now either and someone would help him. You know, probably. He’s pretty sure Captain America doesn’t go around ripping out people’s hearts anyway, that’s probably against his code of conduct. It takes Tony a moment to find his voice. “So, as long as I don’t go off the rails completely and start hollowing out a volcano for my evil lair and show up for battles, we’re all good.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Rogers agrees fervently, even though it hadn’t actually been a question.

“Fine,” he huffs. Tony doesn’t ask how long it took Rogers to convince Fury to trust even that much from him.

“Yes, but…Tony…I’d like…I’d like us to be friends, if we can. I know I was…I’m sorry for the way I acted before. I’d like to get to know you better, if we could start again?”

Tony knows exactly where trying to make friends leads. It leads to him becoming attached and thinking he can’t live without these people to bolster him, to shore up the weaknesses in his defences, and to them finding out just how much of a wreck he is. And leaving. And if Rogers could see how much of an ass he is from the outside, just think how disgusted he’d be to get a good look under the mask, to see how deep that darkness runs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, voice as strong as he can force it to be.

Rogers doesn’t argue, why would he, he doesn’t really want to be friends anyway, he’s just trying to leadership away all the awkward ripples that come from trying to trust your life to someone you despise. Instead, he just nods. “I understand.”


	3. Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone  
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

 

**Cuts and Bruises**

 

It takes Pepper a week after Rhodey’s phone call to get it all together. She could have acted sooner, but this is about making a statement, and she wants all the paperwork to hand so that this never goes to press. The press will be just as uncharitable as Tony’s so called teammates had been because, as far as the public is concerned, there would never be a reason to evict Captain America. Pepper knows better, and she’s not about to let public opinion sway her. Besides, she’s not going to evict him.

When she enters the conference room, her heels clicking authoritatively on the polished floor, Rogers is waiting for her, standing at an unconscious parade rest. “Thank you for coming, Captain.”

He swallows almost imperceptibly, a tell she wouldn’t notice if she weren’t scrutinising him for it, and nods. “My pleasure.”

It’s an obvious lie - she can see his discomfort at being here. She moves for a chair and he makes an abortive movement forward, like he’s going to pull her chair out for her and has thought better of it. It’s endearing, and for a moment she softens. “I won’t ever judge you for old habits, Captain, although I suggest you don’t do things like that for women who don’t know _why_ they’re habits. They seem a bit…chauvinistic, now.”

He nods, seeming more chastised than she meant to make him feel with _this_ reprimand. She is not here to defend herself. Slowly, bright blue eyes peeking through his fringe to check that it is what she wants him to do, he pulls the chair out. Its’ wheels squeak in the otherwise silent room and Pepper settles into it, placing her pile of folders on the table. Steve takes a seat too and waits. 

“I’ve been thinking about the situation that it seemed had arisen when we last spoke, Captain.”

His shoulders go back and his posture straightens. It’s something she recognises from when Rhodey is in trouble with whoever Tony has managed to drag him into opposition against, a distinctly military habit. His face flames brightly. “Ma’am,” he acknowledges, and waits. She has to give him credit for not babbling. She knows everything, and she has no doubt he has _told_ her everything, because he knows he does not deserve to get away with what he has done. Nonetheless, it is an impressive piece of restraint. With Tony, just implying that he’s is in trouble is usually enough to get him to tell her why he should be.

“The thing that I find I can’t forgive, Captain, is you spitting on him opening up his home to you.” Rogers opens his mouth, but she holds up a hand to silence him, continuing in a steady voice underpinned with steel. “The weaponry and equipment, that’s Avengers business and not my concern. Telling him he wasn’t good enough to be a part of the Initiative…” Pepper’s nostrils flare and her lips tighten slightly. “Yes, he can be irresponsible and crass. I can see why you would have reached that conclusion. I disagree, but I understand. But _this_ ,” she waves a hand, “Tony has a number of properties. Yes, Director Fury ordered that he host you, but it didn’t have to be here, in the house he lives in. Tony loves this tower. It was renovated with all of you in mind, and he always intended to turn this into your headquarters. You threw that back in his face. He’s had too few people love him for who he _is_ instead of what he _has_ , and he has every reason to dislike you on principle, Captain. But he put all of that aside and invited you and your team closer than I’ve ever seen him let _anyone_ –” She cuts herself off, biting her tongue. Tony's chequered relationship history isn't this man's concern. Instead, she schools her face into a distant patience and waits, and after a long moment, Rogers realises he is expected to say something.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly, but sincere nonetheless. He _is_ sorry, that is obvious, but there’s not enough sorry in the world to make up for what he’s done. “I really am sorry. We misconstrued a single thing and it…just…snowballed. I was…I’ve never lived, or even been in, a place as nice as this tower, Ms. Potts. It’s intimidating to be confronted with a floor designed especially for you by someone you think dislikes you. I thought…I thought he wanted something.”

And this is exactly the opening Pepper was hoping for. “He didn’t. Tony keeps the people he cares for provided for and safe, something you should understand, Captain. I, however, _do_ want something.”

“Ma’am?” Steve questions, looking at her with some trepidation.

“Tony _gave_ this tower to you. Unfortunately, Tony has no idea what he’s doing with things like that, and just because his name is on the building it isn’t good enough to simply will it to you, or even to write that down. I own twelve percent of this tower and whilst Tony has the controlling interest, in Stark Industries he doesn’t personally own all of the company’s assets, of which this tower is one. It is therefore the decision of myself, and SI, that you and the Avengers should no longer live here rent free.”

For a second she thinks he will object. She’s almost hoping for it, wanting to rip through his arguments and show him that she _can_ do this because _nobody_ touches Tony. Nobody. She might not be dating him, but damned if she’ll stand back and let anyone hurt him. But a moment, the challenging look falls off his face and he dips his head in acknowledgement, his expression becoming the resigned, understanding acceptance that is beginning to get on her nerves. She wants to punish him. She wants him to hate it as much as Tony did, she doesn’t want him to _accept_ it. “How much?”

She fingers the edges of her folders. “Considering the good you do for the city and offsetting that against the market value of a property like this, amenities included, we are willing to rent it for six thousand dollars a month. Each.” Rogers swallows audibly, fingers twitching convulsively on the hem of his shirt, but his blue gaze doesn’t waver. She watches him, keeping everything but professional interest off her face. “I can send the bill to SHIELD if you’d prefer, given that you’re not conventional tenants, you were ordered to move in here.”

She can actually see him weighing up the pros and cons of that, testing not having to pay the astronomical sum against SHIELD’s likely reaction to being told they have to, to owing anyone else more. After a moment, he shakes his head. “Don’t tell SHIELD. I’ll pay it.”

Pepper smiles politely, to hide her victorious grin. “Yes. I don’t think they’d be very happy with you if they knew Stark Industries was so unhappy with the Avengers that they wouldn’t even let you live here.”

Rogers shakes his head again. “It’s not that. It’s…I realise you have no reason to believe me Ms. Potts, but they won’t understand nor care that this is a genuine business consideration and an understandable protection of your…friend. Tony will be blamed for it, and he doesn’t deserve that. I…I have a military pension which never stopped being paid, so I have some savings. Enough to pay this month and next.”

Pepper maintains her polite smile. “You seem to be forgetting the back rent you owe for the previous six weeks, Captain.”

For the first time, Rogers’ head goes down, but from the tension in his jaw she knows it’s anger and challenge he’s hiding. “Very well. Can…May…” he stops.

“What is it?” she asks, keeping her voice cool, but unable to deny that she’s enjoying watching him squirm. JARVIS showed her all the footage he had acquired with a glee she thought a bit unbecoming of an AI, and she is not inclined to be sympathetic to someone who has hurt her Tony.

“Doctor Banner wasn’t here. It was just Clint and I -”

“And Agent Romanov.”

“Natasha didn’t do anything.”

Pepper has never denied that she can be vengeful when the mood strikes her. She fully understands why ancient armies salted the earth in the fields of their conquered foes, and she would – will – do the same to protect who she cares for. And she can’t deny that she likes the fact that for all the willingness to fight in his voice, he can’t win this. “She did plenty. And, more importantly, she did not stop you.”

He bows his head again, and the jolt of victory runs through her. “Fine,” he grits out, eyes on the floor, “but Doctor Banner did nothing, and he’s always been Tony’s friend. He’s…no happier with us than you are.”

Pepper pauses, considering. “I see. Bruce is here as Tony’s guest.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

It sounds forced. Good. The anger in her chest at watching him force Tony to go rooting through the ghosts of a lifetime of bad memories for a few battered pencil tins and a watch sears her. She narrows her eyes. “So you can afford to pay rent for the three of you up until the end of this month. What then?”

Rogers appear to consider this. He could ask Barton and Natasha for their share, but Pepper knows he won’t, knows he understands this is his responsibility, just as defending Tony, is hers. They could move out, but she knows he won’t offer to do that either, knowing it would cause Tony more harm. “I can work,” he says softly.

She laughs, soft and amused. “Captain Rogers, you couldn’t earn enough in a lifetime of construction work to pay for this place.” He gazes at her, surprised and she is completely unapologetic. “I’ve seen all of your records. I know what your army pension is worth, I know what else you have experience in, and unskilled labourer isn’t going to be good enough.”

He tilts his head, stubbornness in the set of his jaw. “I saw how much some of my effects auctioned for. I can sell things. And I have singing and dancing experience. I’ll do kids’ parties,” he says defiantly.

Pepper doesn’t show it, but she’s somewhat impressed. She knows more than a few too-rich brats whose parents would pay six thousand dollars to have Captain America at their birthday party. That actually might work. She’s also rather amused that Captain Oh-So-Humble has apparently been googling himself, this isn’t something she would have expected from him. “And you think that’ll work, do you?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

He falters in the face of her calm amusement. “…Let me try. Before you evict us, or send the bill to SHIELD, let me try.”

If there were any urgency, to her or to SI, in having this money, Pepper would not. It’s not certain Rogers can come up with the funds, but the prestige of having the Avengers in this tower is offsetting the expense of them living there tenfold. Still, she wants him to earn the right he was so freely given and squandered. She doesn’t know exactly what Tony is to her, but he is the pivot on which everything else in her world turns and it can’t be a surprise to Rogers to see the lengths she will go to protect him. And, she knows that he is right - SHIELD will blame Tony for this and not her. Even so, she deserves her vengeance. Tony deserves for her to have her vengeance.

She just looks at him, gives him her very best assessing look, and he can’t hold her gaze. “Very well. I’ll invoice you your outstanding balance.” Pepper stands to leave, and he stands with her, holding out a hand for her to shake.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he says, softly, still not quite meeting her eyes.

For a moment, she feels briefly guilty for adding to his obvious distress. Misconstruing Tony often led to lawsuits, and Pepper had filled in - and scrapped - several formal complaint forms herself in the early years. But then she remembers the shattered, _broken_ look in Tony’s eyes – _I’m a consultant_ – as though he wanted to be, as though it was his _choice_. Her eyes glint, amusement and satisfaction and outright savagery, “Oh no, Captain, the pleasure was all mine.”


	4. Steve and Peggy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

**Cuts and Bruises**

 

Steve doesn’t want to see Peggy again.

It sounded stupid to admit that, even to himself. He was so miserable, so _homesick_ for 1942, and yet he refused to reach out to the person who had mattered the most to him back then. But Steve knew deep down that seeing her would only make him feel worse. Nothing could make him feel more displaced, more out of time, than seeing his beautiful Peggy today – as old as he should be, but isn’t. He should have grown old with her.

Which is why he hasn’t sought her out. He has read her SHIELD file, he even has her telephone number, but this is something he can’t face. Tony has referred to her – his Auntie Peggy – with affection in his voice, and knows that she and Howard had stayed in touch after the war, and even that is too much to bear. The jealousy that Howard – that _Tony_ – had the decades with her that he should have had eats at his insides even now. Which is another good reason not to ask after her.

All of which is why he is monumentally unprepared to find her sitting in the kitchen with Tony that morning. She is turned towards Tony, her fine features framed by silver white hair. She looks completely different, and yet, exactly the same. He would recognise her out of a sea of thousands.

He can’t move. He would be pretty sure that the world does the same, that everything freezes in this moment, if not for the fact that Peggy is moving, laughing. She sounds exactly the same, he has time to think, inanely, and then her head is turning as she flicks her hair out of her face.

It’s Peggy. Someone else who knew, and who remembers, and who knows what it is to have lost everything from then. A wave of relief, of home, washes over him. He’d missed her _every day_.

The smile drops off her face by inches, being replaced instead by pale faced shock. “Steve?” Peggy whispers.

It’s not a command, but it brings his world to a halt more effectively than any order he’s ever been given. He comes to a dead stop, not even breathing. He doesn’t think he could move if his life depended on it.

Peggy staggers to her feet and opens her arms. “Steve.” Her voice is stronger now, “I heard…I didn’t believe…oh Steve.” She flings herself into his arms, and he automatically reaches to hold her. They stand there in each other’s arms, suspended in the moment. If he shuts his eyes, it’s the perfect future that they never had.

After a long moment, Peggy composes herself and pulls back. He feels cold enough to blister where her body was pressed against him. Her eyes are a little red and her face is still paler than it should be, but she smiles up at him with shining eyes and takes his hand. Her voice is steady, and just like he remembers when she says, “Come and sit with us, have some breakfast.”

Tony, seated at the kitchen table and utterly forgotten, stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the tile. “Well, I’ll leave you two to catch up,” he says, false joviality in his tone. “I’ve got things to get on with anyway.”

“Don’t be silly, dear,” Peggy says playfully, waving Tony back into his seat.

“No, really,” Tony answers. “I’ve got stuff to do, I need to go…do it.”

Peggy stops, looking between Steve and Tony, and the grip she has on Steve’s hand slackens slightly. “Tony? Ducky, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” he says, instantly, but it isn’t his usual suave tone. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Peggy narrows her eyes and waits; Tony actually blushes. Steve didn’t even know he could do that. For a moment, Peggy and Tony are locked in a stand-off. Then Tony’s eyes slide unwillingly past Peggy’s shoulder, and lock onto Steve’s face. His lips part like he’s about to say something and Steve doesn’t know what his face shows, only that all he can feel is raw pleading. _Please, please,_ he thinks, _don’t let Peggy know._

*

It’s not the first time she’s thought about this. Peggy is many years – and too much loss – away from having been a silly little girl, convinced that love was all that was needed to overcome any opposition, but it would be a lie to say that she had never imagined seeing Steve walk through the door, as beautiful as the last time she saw him. Over the years, as her own beauty had faded like a plucked flower, that desperate longing, like her very heart held just out of reach, had disappeared, until there was nothing left but an old, calloused scar over the memory of Steve.

There had been other men she had loved, but there had never been anyone like him. Never anyone she could give herself to completely, forever. On her darker days she had blamed him for that. It wasn’t fair to ask mere humans to compete when you had been loved by the pinnacle of human perfection. She had hated him some days for loving the world more than he loved her; self-absorption being a trait one could apparently learn from Howard Stark. It had taken her a long time to accept that he wouldn’t have been the man she loved if he did differently.

She had stayed in touch with many of the Commandoes, and Colonel Philips until his death. They were all soldiers, all men of action, they had all known loss. They were all Steve’s friends but, having lost Steve, having lost her chance to be the wife and mother she would have been only for him, Barns would have been her preference for a friend. He had known Steve all his life. If she couldn’t have Steve, she would have taken the man who would have had a wealth of stories to tell her. But Barnes had already fallen to his death. She had hated _him_ for being that lucky, for not having to live with the loss that she had to somehow bear.

By sheer chance, it had been Howard that she had become close to. She still wasn’t exactly sure what had drawn them together. He had felt guilty for failing to give Steve what he needed to survive. _A parachute Pegs, I’ve got schematics for a fucking flying car, I coulda given the man a parachute._ He hadn’t loved Steve like she had…but he had loved him all the same. There had never been _that_ between them, but they would likely have married anyway, out of desperation and loneliness and expectation, but Steve’s ghost had stood solid between them, disapproving and staking his claim on her for too many years, and Howard had met Maria.

The rest, as they said, was history.

The only person who she had ever loved even a fraction as much as she had loved Steve had been Tony, and Tony she had loved with the fierce zeal of an over-protective lioness looking over her sole malnourished cub. She had loved him when he was a tiny helpless newborn with colic that kept him wailing all night, when he was six and too clever and too precocious to be accepted by his peers or to be more than a novelty to adults. He had been the closest she would ever come to a child of her own when he was a sulky troubled teenager and more of a bewilderment to his young mother than a treasure.

Now, Tony is everything she has left, and she has watched him be damaged and hurt by so many people – too many. Howard, whom she had trusted once, and who had disappeared into a bottle, Obadiah, whom Maria had determinedly tried to set her up with in some union of houses ideal, that nice Potts girl who had broken Tony’s heart when she discovered that loving a hero was _hard_.

To see Steve, so young and beautiful and no longer her own, gingerly holding her ancient hand, drives a dagger through her heart. To see him at odds with her Tony is somehow worse.

She glares at Tony. Ancient, she might be, but her mind is as sharp as ever. He’s jealous. When she could be there for him, which has never been often enough, he has always had her all to himself. Peggy knows, better than anyone, that he might look like a battle-scarred man, that he might be capable of saving the world, but underneath the engine grease there was nothing but an uncertain little boy, afraid yet another person had found someone they’d rather spend time with than him. She loves Steve, she never stopped, but a girlhood infatuation is never going to be more important to her than Tony.

She’s actually on the verge of telling him some of that, gaze softening slightly and nails digging into Steve’s arm where she’s still holding him, afraid he’ll disappear like a wraith if she lets go even for a second. Before she can, Tony snaps, “Nothing,” again.

There is something…off about the repetition, and Peggy didn’t get where she got in the army in 1941 by being unable to adapt plans on the fly. Her pursed, irritated expression flares back full force and she turns to Steve because he might look only mid-twenties, but Peggy knew him when he was only twenty-five and, though it pains her to admit a failing with her boy, he was more mature at that age than Tony has ever been. “What’s happened?” hearing her own accent sharpen in an order.

Steve straightens instinctively at her tone, ever the soldier. “I-” he starts, and cuts himself off.

“I don’t like Steve,” Tony says abruptly. His arms are folded, his eyes on the floor.

“What?” Peggy sputters, faintly hearing Steve echo her. This doesn’t seem possible. Sure, she’s met people who don’t like Steve, usually US Army Colonels, or Nazis. Tony is neither, and by rights, he should thrive under Steve’s particular brand of compassion.

“Yeah, you told me all these cool stories about Captain America, but it turns out he’s kind of a dick. So…yeah. I don’t want to have breakfast with him.” Tony’s defensive posture belies his blasé tone. He forgets that she has known him since before he could lace his own shoes. She knows he is lying.

Her fingers convulse and tighten on Steve’s arm. Tony’s jealousy she could have tolerated, understood even, but rudeness she has never tolerated, not from his father and not from him.

“That’s not true,” Steve whispers, sounding shocked to his core. Peggy half turns, preparing to comfort him. Steve too has dealt with too much dislike and contempt in his life and he shouldn’t have to deal with it here, from her godson, who she had thought she had taught better. “That’s not what…I made a terrible mistake.”

And, for the second time that morning, the world stops completely. _I,_ Steve had said. _I made a terrible mistake._ Her arm drops to her own side, too heavy suddenly to maintain her grip on Steve’s hand. Tony is easy to love, but he is far, far easier to hate. “Steve, wh-”

Steve talks quickly over her, rushing to get the words out. “I thought Tony was something he isn’t. I…” he trails off, eyes flitting restlessly, apparently unable to find the words he needs.

Peggy has never seen Steve Rogers afraid to meet someone’s eyes. She takes a protective step towards Tony. “You thought he was something he wasn’t?” she repeats flatly. It’s a story she’s heard too many times, and from too many people, before.

“That’s not how it happened, Auntie Peggy,” Tony tries, with a ragged chuckle which cracks in the middle.

The sound breaks her heart. That is the sound of Tony stripped down to his most vulnerable. What on earth has happened here? “Not now, dear,” Peggy says, waving a distracted hand. “Steve is explaining himself.”

Judging by the look on his face, Steve has no idea how to even try. There is a long, painful silence.

Peggy eventually breaks it, anger starting to burn in her. Tony could be a difficult boy, but it was all defensive posturing – that he was surrounded by fools taken in by it was enraging. “I see. So you are just another _arse_ who didn’t bother to get to know him.”

Steve manages a nod.

Tony looks stricken. Peggy is ready to rend Steve apart with her teeth. “What has happened to you, Steve Rogers? Anyone can see how much this team means to Tony. To take my godson’s generosity and throw it in his _face_ -”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers.

Peggy raises a haughty eyebrow at him – an expression much practiced until it fairly screams, _not good enough, soldier_ – but says nothing and turns away. She’s heard enough. “Come on, Ducky,” she says to Tony with finality. “You can take me out for breakfast.”

For a fleeting second Tony hesitates, looking back at Steve, but he takes her arm when Peggy imperiously offers it to him, and gives a shrug of apology that almost has her shouting again. Anyone who could let Tony down so grievously does not deserve an apology.

She doesn’t look back as Steve Rogers breaks her heart for the second time.


	5. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.
> 
>  
> 
> To Cyberbutterfly: The much anticipated penguin chapter.

**Cuts and Bruises**

 

Tony hasn’t been _avoiding_ Steve. Really, he hasn’t, that would be ridiculous, and childish. It’s just a happy coincidence that they haven’t crossed paths for a week since he managed to single-handedly destroy the only thing left from his life before that Rogers has left. And he wouldn’t be planning on seeing Rogers tonight - he knows exactly what will be back in Rogers’ gaze now after the damage he’s done - but JARVIS had woken him and insisted that he needs to be present for the discussion going on.

He stomps up to the communal floors, irritated that his short and uncomfortable nap has been disturbed. At least Bruce isn’t here so whatever’s going on it isn’t Hulk related. Of all the things to find, what he did not expect was Clint, wildly waving his arms while explaining to Steve – Rogers, _dammit_ , he knows any chance of friendship is totally off the cards now – _why_ he is surrounded by a half dozen penguins.

“Uh,” Tony says, intelligently.

Clint whirls around without his usual sure footedness, and nearly falls. “Tony!” he says gleefully. “I got them for you.”

“Well, sure,” Tony agrees, “What do you get the billionaire who has everything? Penguins. Logical choice.”

Clint’s face falls tragically. “But…you said you wanted them. I _got_ them for you.”

Tony nods, unable to disagree with so pitiful an expression and instead says the next thing that comes into his mind. “Jesus Clint, you smell like a brewery.”

“I might have had one. Maaaaaaaybe two.”

“Two dozen,” Tony mutters, but that’s not the point. He looks over at Steve – _Rogers_ – who shrugs expressively and turns to Clint. “Where did you get them from?”

“Zoo,” Clint answers, his cheerful expression back. “You thought we wouldn’t think of it d’t you. Thought we wouldn’t be able to. But I did, and it was _easy_. Their security is dreadful.”

“Clint,” Steve says, sounding severe. “Did you steal these penguins?”

Tony giggles. He can’t help it. It’s just not a sentence he ever thought he’d hear Captain America say.

“Tech-ni-cal-ly,” Clint says, sounding the word out carefully.

This time Steve – you know what? Forget it, he’s just going to call the guy Steve – looks across at Tony. “What do we do?”

“I love that you think I have an answer for what to do with stolen Arctic animals.”

“They’re not from the Arctic. They’re fr’m _Africa_ ,” Clint interjects proudly. Then at their looks, “What? I wanted them to be comfortable and you don’t have snow here, everything else, but not snow.” He sounds so wistful that, for a second, Tony finds his mind whirling as he plans how to build and install a snow machine on one of the floors.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice snaps him back.

“Well…uh…normally I’d call Pepper, and she’d call the zoo and get it sorted. But she will murder me if she thinks I did this, drunk or otherwise. SI has had enough bad press lately without me breaking into zoos to steal animals.”

“Tony,” Steve’s whipped puppy look is back. Tony looks at the penguins to avoid it. They are cute; maybe he could just keep one. “You _didn’t_ do it. Clint did. There’s no reason you should be in trouble for it.”

“Yes, well. Pepper will murder me, but it’s nothing to what Fury will do to Clint if he thinks he’s been stealing animals from zoos. Lesser of two evils, needs of the many…”

Steve thinks, pursing his lips. “Well, maybe we could just take them back. And you know…explain…”

Tony perks up. “Yeah! I can get in, wipe any footage Clint missed and then you, America’s favourite Boy Scout, can just march the penguins right up to the gate and say you found them. No one can argue with that, they’ll assume a failure with the enclosure.”

It’s a measure of the seriousness of the situation that Steve doesn’t even object to the lie, just nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

*

Herding penguins is surprisingly tricky. Tony is amazed that Clint managed it in the state he was in. It had taken them ages to get them out of the tower, with Clint confused and looking woefully at Tony and asking if they were the wrong kind and why was he taking them back.

Tony still isn’t sure why the archer seems so set on the idea that he wants penguins, but had eventually been forced to calm him down by telling him that he and Steve were taking them to a different house he owned that had a room set up for them. It’s a measure of how drunk he is that Clint believes him. Tony can’t wait to question him when he’s sober.

They head to the nearest zoo because Tony is sure that one of his drivers would have texted him (or Pepper, who would have then called him screaming) if Clint had brought half a dozen stolen penguins into the car. Clint’s right, their security _is_ shit, and Tony makes quick work of letting himself into the complex, slightly creeped out to be alone in an area built for a thousand tourists.

There’s a trail of beer cans, like hobo breadcrumbs, showing him which way Clint went, but other than that, he did a good job of covering his tracks and Tony finds nothing incriminating in the security booth. He wipes the whole lot down to remove fingerprints anyway – who knows what kind of record Clint has. Once he’s done, he pulls out his phone, ready to text Steve the all clear so he can bring the penguins over to the little security booth to do his “aww shucks, am I being oh so helpful?” routine. If he hasn’t lost any. Please don’t let him have lost any, that is more than Tony can deal with right now.

“You came back. Forgot something did you?”

 _“Shit!”_ Tony shrieks, in a very manly fashion. A tall, heavy set man wearing a Central Park Zoo polo shirt and an aggressive expression appears out of the shadows.

“Where. Are. My. Penguins?”

Tony is not the sort to quail in front of angry voices, but he holds out his hands in a hopefully placating way. “Hey, uh, penguin guy. You’re making a big mistake here. We didn’t take the penguins, we’re just putting them _back_. My friend…uh…you know what, never mind about that. The point is, that we’re replacing exactly what went missing! No harm, no foul.”

Penguin Guy, still gripping Tony’s shoulder, blinks suspiciously. “We?”

Tony thinks over what he said. Well shit. “No. Not we. Me. I. Singular. Do you know who I am?”

The man looks unimpressed. “You’re yet another douchebag in an Iron Man goatee.”

“What? _No_. I _am_ Iron Man. I can prove it.” He unbuttons his shirt slightly, letting the light of the Arc reactor glow through.

The man lets go of him, looking impressed. “Wow, that’s really realistic. How did you make that?”

“It’s not…It _is_ realistic. It’s real. I’m Tony Stark.”

The man shakes his head and unclips his radio from his belt. “Got the perp. No sign of the penguins though.” There’s a rustle and a crackle and then he responds, “Some nutbag. Thinks he’s Iron Man. Not dangerous. Want me to bring him in, or just call the cops here?”

“Wait. _Wait_.” Tony insists; this is radically getting out of hand. “Let me send a text, one text, okay? My friend will bring the penguins right to you. And then maybe we could…explain? I’m sure we can compensate you for your trouble.” He taps his jacket pocket with his wallet in it and nearly sighs. He hasn’t bribed anyone so ostentatiously in years.

At the mention of money, the first hint of doubt enters the man’s face. “And you’re the real Tony Stark?”

“ _Yes_. Want to see my driver’s licence?” The man doesn’t answer, but nor does he flinch when he reaches for the breast pocket. Which is stupid, because what if Tony had a weapon? Not that he does. Which is disappointing right now.

He tosses his wallet to the guy, who flicks through it, scrutinising his licence and bank cards. Tony is glad he doesn’t keep much cash in there when he pockets the $300 odd dollars he does have and tosses the wallet back. “That all seems to be in order, Mr. Stark. Text your friend.”

Tony feels a certain amount of misgiving about calling Steve into this clusterfuck. But nothing is going to be gained by withholding the penguins and, if anyone can smooth this over, it will be Steve everybody-loves-me Rogers. He texts the alert to Steve, and, within moments, the radio crackles again.

“Boss? We got someone here saying he found the penguins in the road. He’s got all of them.”

“Good.” The penguin man gives an audible sigh of relief. “Take them back to their enclosure. Call the vet out. I want them all checked over. Tell her it’s an emergency visit and to bill Stark Industries for it, just get her here.”

“Sure thing, Mark. And this guy?”

“Tell him we’ve apprehended his friend, and if he doesn’t want Mr. Stark to spend the night in jail for breaking and entering, theft, and animal endangerment, he’ll tell us the truth about what exactly he was doing with my penguins.”

“Mr Pen-…ah zoo keeper?” Tony interrupts.

“Hardy,” the man grunts, “Mark Hardy Stark. I’m the Aviculturist.”

“Quite, and a wonderful job you do too, apprehending criminals and such. But that’s Captain America you’re threatening and I think you’ll agree he’s the last person to steal anything.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to have a problem with property damage.”

Great. One of the people who thought Loki’s crazy shit was their fault. Fuck his life. “Okay. Well. This really is a huge misunderstanding that we really have nothing…well, very little to do with. And like I say, I’m willing to compensate you further for your understanding.”

“Are you trying to bribe me, Stark?”

Considering the way the man’s eyes had lit up at the promise of money before, he feels quite insulted that this Mr. Hardy is attempting to take the moral high-ground now. “I hope so, otherwise I’m afraid I’m going to have to report you for the theft of the notes you took from my wallet. And I assure you my lawyers are better than yours.”

Mr. Hardy sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “How much?”

“Well…obviously I’ll pay for the continuing care of the penguins, and no doubt they’ll need a new enclosure to ensure this doesn’t happen again. I’m sure my company can devote some resources to such a worthy cause. And the distress that tonight has caused you is surely worth…how much do you think it’s worth?”

“Three thousand dollars,” Hardy answers instantly.

“Three thousand dollars,” Tony agrees at once suppressing an eye roll. “If you just lend me a pen for a second, I’ll write you a cheque.” He hates writing cheques. It’s so outdated, what kind of futurist still writes cheques? “Now obviously, I don’t want this to end up in the papers, people might get the wrong idea.”

Hardy nods once and then reconsiders. “It’ll cost you extra.”

Tony gives a bright, somewhat manic smile. “I am happy to double your fee.”

That seems to settle the man and he pulls a pen out of his pocket, waiting impatiently while Tony scrawls out a cheque.

*

The walk back, penguin free, is uneventful. Tony refrains from so much as looking at Steve because if he does he think he may break into a fit of giggles which is a) unmanly, b) extremely uncool and c) he suspects Steve will disapprove of the fact that this is yet another problem that he bought his way out of.

“Sorry about Clint,” Steve says at last in a subdued voice.

“Hey, not your fault and no harm done. I still don’t know _why_ he thought it was a good idea, but…”

“Because of what you said.”

Tony flinches, how has he fucked up again? “I didn’t-”

“After we found out…after Ms. Potts spoke to us, you uh kidded about wanting penguins as a gift to make up for our behaviour.”

Now that he’s said it, Tony vaguely remembers the incident. _Welcome to the Avengers: drama, angst and now apparently penguins._ He runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah…I’m told my sense of humour is terrible. I guess we should be grateful he kidnapped the penguins and not Angelina Jolie huh?” Tony gives a weak chuckle, and gets a small smile in return.

“He was drunk. He knew you were joking. I’ll speak to him. This has to stop.”

“What has to stop?” Tony asks, because if Clint regularly gets drunk and steals animals, well…well, okay, Tony’s never going to tire of teasing him about it – or at least, never going to tire of thinking of jokes to tease him if he wasn’t certain they’d come out badly and ruin everything.

“Clint’s less-than-perfectly thought out actions,” Steve’s diplomatic words don’t fit with his dark voice. When Tony looks sideways at him he continues without hesitation. “He’s been…since Loki. I mean, he’s not _mad_ or anything and a fella’s entitled to be a little less-than-perfect after that, he’s just having trouble adjusting.” He sounds defensive and uncomfortable, but more at the subject matter than at expressing the feelings to _Tony_ , of all people.

Amazed at his own daring, Tony agrees. “Yeah,” he says, in a soft voice because he remembers too well a dark cave and men with rough voices and tanks of water. He can’t even imagine having the option of defiance and escape stolen from him. He’d rather have died in that desert.

Steve stops walking suddenly, and Tony stops too, shoulders hunching instinctively as he wonders if he’s gone too far by presuming to know what Clint has suffered. “Look, Tony…I know there’s no excuse for how we treated you, and I’m more sorry than you could know, it’s just…that’s why. That’s why I did…well, not all of it, some of it was my own bull-headed idiocy but when I…I thought you were hurting him and I couldn’t just stand back and let you.” His face twists and he turns, not really away, but out of the little light offered by the streetlamp and all Tony can see of him is his profile. “It’s not an excuse and I’m not blaming him, I just…wanted you to know. It’s not…it’s not that he’s more important, or better or that you did anything wrong. It’s just that, he’s not…”

Tony digs deep and finds the courage to put his hand on Steve’s arm. Steve flinches like it hurts, but that’s stupid because Steve could bend Tony into a pretzel, probably even if he was wearing the suit. “I get it.” He stops and thinks for a second and in a voice as low and laced with shame as Steve’s, admits quietly, “Dad had an old friend from the war - not one of yours,” he adds hastily, as Steve twitches again, “He had…shellshock I guess. He was nice, totally normal, but loud bangs startled him. He used to hide under the table, ducking and covering on instinct I suppose.” He stops, reminiscing for a moment and chewing his lip, then continues, “I was about six. I thought it was funny, a big guy like that, hiding under the table. I used to run up behind him, with a stupid pop gun and shoot the thing. He was always so _nice_ about it, once he realised it was me, used to pull me under with him and tell me stories but…” he stops, shrugs, “but that was a pretty shitty thing to do in retrospect. I get why someone’d be mad if they thought I was acting like that to be cruel.”

He edges closer, uneasy as though he is trying to sidle up to a lion that could kill him with a swipe of its powerful paw, and angles his head differently, trying to see Steve. The super-soldier’s face is a study in misery and guilt and unhappiness in a way that makes Tony feel desperately uncomfortable. “Hey, Steve, Cap, it’s OK. I don’t blame you for thinking I’m an asshole. I _am_ an asshole. And you’re,” he waves a hand vaguely, “I totally get why just being me offends you.”

Steve straightens with a snarl that makes Tony think his lion analogy might not have been so wrong after all. “I’m not _offended_ by you. You did _nothing wrong._ God Tony, how can you be so, so…understanding?”

Tony looks away, “You didn’t really react much differently to…well…pretty much everyone else I’ve ever known. I’m not good with people and I used to be known in the press as the Merchant of Death or Manhattan’s biggest slut depending on who was writing, so it was obvious that Captain America wasn’t going to want to be around me.” The words are said without a hint of bitterness. He’s long past bitterness, bitterness was for when Pepper wanted to be with him, giving him hope that he wasn’t completely worthless and unloveable and that somebody wanted him. These days, he’s mostly resigned.

Steve looks like something is eating him alive. “Tony,” he starts in an anguished voice.

“Stop,” Tony interrupts him. He’s far too sober to hear, or share, more emotional confessions on a street corner. “Don’t emote on me anymore, it itches.” _What? That didn’t even make sense, why are there even words coming out of your mouth?_ He winces, and tries to cover the moment with, “Let’s go eat pizza. I know a place that’s open all night. And then we can go home and torment Barton for the fact that I almost got arrested and had to pay six thousand dollars to make Penguin Guy be understanding.”

Steve blinks at him, and Tony feels sick. Shit, that is exactly what he didn’t want to do. He doesn’t want Steve to think he is trying to buy or bribe him again, doesn’t want him to think he solves all his problems with money. He _does_ solve all his problems with money, the ones he can’t solve with repulsors anyway, but he’d love it if Steve never figures that out. But then Steve laughs, a slow warming chuckle, “Sure, on one condition.”

“Name it,” Tony says without hesitation and knows he sounds a bit too sincere, a bit too desperate.

“You let me pay. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you.”

No one has ever offered to pay for him when he went out, not since he was very very small. He is the billionaire son of millionaire Howard Stark and no one, certainly not someone who wears army surplus shirts, has ever offered to take him out. He nods slowly, “Deal.”    


	6. Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

**Cuts and Bruises**

 

Bruce is not impressed when his phone chirps the _Go Go Power Rangers_ theme when the Avengers Assemble message comes through, but he can’t deny that he’s pleased that Tony is once again playing pranks, on him if no one else.

He sighs at his experiment. It’s time sensitive, which means he’s going to have to start all over again if he abandons it now. The thought of the fight ahead sends a prickle of tension to tighten his skin. This is his first call out since Loki. He was needed for Loki, undeniably - magic aside, he was still inhumanly strong - but what if this time he does more harm than good? What will SHIELD do with him then? He knows the army still want him.

His heart is like a stone as he heads upstairs, but he doesn’t have time to trudge and worry. The others are assembled in the garage, already suited up.

“C’mon Big Green,” says Tony, voice distorted somewhat by the suit’s mask. “There’s dragons downtown. _Dragons._ ”

“Downtown? That’s quite…there’s a lot of people there,” Bruce hedges.

“SHIELD has been evacuating the area the dragons seem to be staying in,” Steve explains, quick but steady. “Try to keep the property damage to a minimum, but you shouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Bruce nods. He still can’t bring himself to really speak to Steve, so he doesn’t look at him as he asks, “How are we getting there?”

“Iron Man will give Hawkeye a ride. They’ll be our scouting party and eyes in the sky. I thought we might ride with you.”

Bruce blinks his surprise. “Yeah, Bruce,” Tony says, smirk evident in his voice, “Captain America and Agent Romanov are going to _ride_ you.”

He isn’t sure who blushes redder him or Steve, and Natasha narrows her eyes in a way that would have made him distinctly uneasy, but Clint laughs aloud. “Lucky you, Tony. You get _me_.”

“Eh,” Tony says and tilts his head towards the others. With the mask in the way, Clint can’t see who he’s talking to. “Wanna trade?”

Steve apparently decides the tone has been lowered enough. His ears are still glowing, but he pulls the cowl quickly over his head. “Enough banter. Everyone ready?”

Bruce sighs and begins to relax, begins to let go. A roar wells up within him and his head snaps around of its’ own accord to glare at Steve, teeth already bared. Bruce wrenches the Other Guy down with a gasp, head hanging, knees suddenly weak. A strong grip catches him by the shoulders and he snarls reflexively, feeling the Other Guy surge forward again. “Get _off_ me!”

Tony backs away, hands raised. “All right, Big Guy. I just…you OK?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Bruce spits, and then apologises reflexively.

“It’s okay. You just look a bit…uh…” Tony can’t quite keep the laugh out of his voice, “a bit green.”

Bruce snarls again, and looks at Steve. He the Other Guy is still too close when the Captain takes an automatic step back. “I can’t come with you,” Bruce grits out between clenched teeth

“Doctor, I understand that you don’t trust the Other Guy, but you need to trust us to keep him contained.”

“It’s not-” he stops and takes a deep breath, and then another and at the edge of his vision he notices Natasha’s hand edging toward the gun at her hip. “ _Put that down_.”

Natasha jerks violently and levels it at him automatically. “Sorry, sorry. I’m…I have him, almost. Just put it down. It’s making him nervous.” She’s shaking as she complies and Bruce deliberately turns his back to her. The bullet can’t hurt him, and she knows that, but if he can’t see what she’s doing, the Other Guy can’t react. “It’s not that, Captain.” He forces his voice to be even. It hurts to do so. “It’s…” he doesn’t look at Tony, can’t, “I’m still furious with you. I can’t guarantee who the Other Guy will go for. He wants to go for you.”

Captain America swallows. Audibly. “All right then. Well…maybe you should…sit this one out.”

“I think that would be best, yes,” he says weakly, clinging to his composure.

Tony stamps back over to him, each foot fall echoing as the suit hits concrete, and jabs Bruce in the chest. “I’m sorry what?”

“Tony-”

“No, I want to know why you’re so angry with Cap that you can’t control the Hulk.”

“You _know_ why.”

“Nope, pretty sure I don’t.”

“Because JARVIS showed me the footage from before I moved in.” Bruce hears his voice snapping but his control is too tenuous for tact.

At that, Tony falls silent. Bruce can’t see his eyes, can’t judge his feelings at all.

“Right,” he says, his voice flat beyond the distortion of the mask. For a long moment, they look at one another. “Your whole face is green, Bruce. You should go meditate or whatever.” He turns on his heel. “We’ll take the quinjet.”

Steve’s eyes dart between them. Bruce growls low in his chest. “Quinjet,” Steve agrees. “Hawkeye, pilot. Land when you see somewhere suitable, anywhere close enough will do. Iron Man will give you a lift up to a perch. Widow, you and I are running distraction. Until we find out what kills them, we need to make sure that we’re interesting enough to hold their attention. We don’t want to chase them across the whole city.”

Bruce sags, already forgotten, heart twisting uncomfortably as he watches his friend… _friends_ go into danger without him.

*

Tony doesn’t speak to him for days. At first Bruce thinks it’s a coincidence, but it soon becomes clear that Tony is avoiding him. He thinks he should feel angry, but all he feels is hollow. He packs his stuff up, ready to leave, then unpacks it again as he thinks about what happened when he wasn’t here. Instead, he goes to find Tony.

“So how did it go with the dragons?” he asks, leaning uncertainly in the doorway.

“They ate us up,” Tony responds, without looking up from what he’s doing. “Nom nom, no more Avengers.”

“Okay, stupid question,” Bruce concedes, but Tony doesn’t make any move to ask him to leave, so he risks coming another step closer. “I’m sorry.”

Tony turns at that and regards him consideringly, like he’s a particularly interesting puzzle. “Why?”

“Because…well, because you’re pissed at me.”

“I’m not…okay yeah, I am. But being pissed doesn’t affect _my_ battle performance, so who cares?”

“I care. I didn’t mean to stick my nose into your private business. You were obviously hurting and I wanted to know how I could help. JARVIS said it wasn’t classified.”

“It is now,” Tony mutters and rubs a hand across his forehead.

Bruce takes another step forward, concern etching his features. “Tony, when was the last time you slept?”

Tony wrenches away. “Stop it. _Stop it_. I’m not a delicate flower. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you coddling me. Or a big green body guard.”

“I’m not- no one is saying you can’t look after yourself.”

“No? Funny, because that’s what it sounded like. You can’t even manage to be angry at the right person. I was an ass, I caused everyone problems. It’s me that’s the fuck up.”

“You are _not_ a fuck up,” Bruce snaps incredulously. Tony doesn’t even look up at his anger, but Bruce moderates his voice anyway. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Right, nothing wrong at all with the fact that I essentially took the Hulk out of commission by being a whiny little crybaby. God, it’s a good thing I didn’t tell you how pissed off I was with Fury over the whole nuke thing or you’d have gone after the helicarrier instead and we’d all be Loki’s mind controlled thralls right now.”

“You weren’t pissed off with Fury.”

“I would have been if I hadn’t been hopped up on adrenaline.”

“Why aren’t you angry with the others?”

“They didn’t do anything _wrong_ ,” Tony snaps, a frustrated refrain.

Bruce blinks, confused. “You get that their behaviour was unacceptable right?”

“You get that _my_ behaviour wasn’t any better?” Tony answers, mimicking his inflection.

“Two wrongs-”

“Oh, shut up.”

They stop and stare at each other. Tony is breathing heavily, but Bruce is as calm as he ever feels. “I’m sorry I intruded on your privacy,” he says again, “but I’m not sorry I found out what had been happening. I don’t want to give my blind faith to people who can act like that. I spent too long handing over my lunch money to assholes who thought different meant worthless.”

“Clint didn’t take my lunch money, Banner.”

“You’re right. Taking all the things you made for them, and the rent-free rooms in the super tower, all while condemning you for your money. That was so much better.”

“I…stop it.”

“Stop _what_?”

“Stop twisting what happened. It wasn’t like that. If I had just been better-”

Bruce closes his eyes against a spike of green. “Don’t,” he warns, low and guttural, “don’t say that. You did nothing wrong.”

“Then why did you tell me to apologise to them?”

 _Go apologise for not showing up to your thing_. He can hear his own words so clearly. He keeps his eyes closed, and sighs. “Because I made a mistake.”

For a long moment, Tony doesn’t say anything to that, focussing instead on a piece of wire. “I wish people would stop treating me like a damsel in distress because Rogers shouted at me and Rhodey had to come and clear up another one of my messes,” he admits at last.

“No one thinks you’re a damsel in distress, Tony. I certainly don’t.”

“Then why won’t the Hulk fight with the others?”

“He doesn’t like people who hurt his friends.”

“But I…oh.” Bruce wants to smirk and cry in equal measure at the look on Tony’s face. “I don’t want them to get hurt because of me, and the Hulk being angry with them for this _is_ because of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says helplessly.

Tony laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “I’ve really fucked this group up.”

“Steve-” Bruce begins.

“Say I believe you,” Tony starts, holding up a hand when Bruce might have interrupted. “Say, just for a second, that it wasn’t me and that Captain America just used me as his whipping boy because he could.” His tone expresses what he thinks of this idea, but he continues. “Even so, he’s sorry now, and it’s not like I’ve never made a mistake about somebody.”

“It’s really not like that Tony.”

“No? Take Obadiah Stane. He tried to have me killed, _did_ have me tortured, tried to kill me himself.” Tony taps the Arc reactor, almost as if to reassure himself that it’s still there, and turns his face away. “He nearly killed Pep. I was…I was so damn lucky to get there in time. All because I thought he was the father I’d never had. I gave him every security override I had.”

Bruce doesn’t know what to say.

Tony’s tone is distant now, as though he’s reflecting on the past, no hint of the self-mocking tone of earlier. His eyes are still on the floor. “For some totally unfathomable reason, Pepper still gave me another chance after that. Still stayed with me, even though any sane person would have run as far and as fast as possible.” His eyes meet Bruce’s and they are _burning_ with an indefinable intensity. “I’m not half as good as she is, but I can _damn_ well try to be.”

Bruce can’t speak for a moment. “Okay,” he agrees when he’s sure he’s not going to embarrass himself when he opens his mouth. “Okay, a second chance. I’ll try and make the Other Guy understand.”

“Good.” Tony sounds decisive now, and clearly the subject is closed. “Hey, want to try on the unrippable pants I made for you?” He digs around under the workbench and holds up a wad of fabric.

Bruce holds his gaze a little longer, not happy about letting the moment go. But it’s no use – Tony is giving him his best and glossiest grin, teasingly waggling the bundle at his face. “Tony, those say Stark Industries across them.”

“I know, right? Free advertising. Pepper will be so proud.”

“I am _not_ wearing your name on my ass.”


	7. Clint and Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

**Cuts and Bruises**

****

 

Now that he’s conscious, and well on his way to being discharged, it’s been decided that Coulson is going to be the handler for the whole team. Mostly, Clint is relieved because he is a creature of habit at his core. Given a half way normal upbringing, he knows he’d be the kind of guy that had a favourite coffee shop and went there at the same time every day and felt disoriented when there was a new secretary at his office and filled his adrenaline junkie needs by learning how to parachute jump. That is quite categorically not his life, but for someone who lives ever-ready to run in the way Clint does, he doesn’t like his people changing around him. It’s why he’s got such a reputation as insubordinate and disobedient and unreliable. It’s not even about trusting his life to unknowns; he just can’t relax and reach the kind of calm required to sit, eyes on a target, for days at a time when surrounded by people he doesn’t trust have his back. He’s better now, he trusts Coulson and Nat absolutely, and they’re usually kept together, and even when they’re not he can relax somewhat, at least enough to get the job done. If one of them vouches for whoever he’ll be with.

All of which means that Coulson joining them at last is nothing but a huge weight off his mind. It’s not that he can’t work with the other Avengers, he can - better than he does with most of SHIELD. He has Nat at his six, steady as a rock, and Steve’s calm, solid presence. And the fact that Stark never retaliated, has given him a pass too. Which just leaves Banner, and while it’s clear enough that he wants to – understandably – mash both him and Steve into a pulp he hasn’t.

None of that relief and pleasure that Coulson is going to be here changes the itch at the base of his skull that reminds him of how he acted. He didn’t exactly have the best childhood or happiest home life, but he thinks this is probably how little kids feel about their parents coming home when they know they’ve done something wrong. He knows all about hiding things out of fear of reprisal, and this isn’t it. He doesn’t _fear_ Coulson’s response, but the idea of having to tell the only man who has ever been proud of him how badly he’s fucked up eats through his guts like acid. He’s still sure Coulson is disappointed with him already, for allowing himself to be taken by Loki, but this… he knows this will be much worse.

The whole thing, the whole mess of emotions that he just has no way to deal with has driven Clint into the ceiling to hide and brood. Into the vents which – it does nothing to help his guilt – he suspects Tony out in for his personal amusement. They are perfect for curling into a little ball to obsess over the fact that he and Nat are SHIELD’s best. They’re _Coulson’s_ best. And Clint has made a really spectacular mess of this whole being on a team thing Coulson was so sure he was ready for.

The idea of Coulson finding out what Steve did sends cold prickles down Clint’s back. He knows what it means to have your perfect person, the one you modelled yourself on turn out to be the most imperfect of all. He doesn’t wish that on Coulson, wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but it’s somehow worse to imagine _Coulson_ finding out that Captain America has feet of clay.

At least he might understand where _Steve_ is coming from. He might understand that Stark is abrasive and offensive and that Steve made a mistake. He might understand that Stark hadn’t been entirely blameless; setting Steve’s shower to cold was a step too far, because there was a special kind of horror in seeing that suppressed terror in Steve’s blue eyes. He might understand that, because Steve is an _idiot_ , he’d been trying to protect Clint - because Steve can probably recognise PTSD, but remembers when it was considered nothing more than cowardice. He might realise that it had been an accident.

The idea of Coulson finding out what _Clint_ did makes him want to die, because Clint…he should have known better. There is no excuse. He should have known better because Coulson had trained him to know better, had _trusted_ him to know better. He’s half-tempted to go to Banner or Stark or hell, JARVIS, and throw himself on their mercy, beg them to leave out his part in it all. But Coulson will know something has happened, because Coulson knows everything, and he can’t throw Steve under a bus like that. Not when it was Clint’s fault. Yeah, he knows exactly who instigated this, who encouraged Steve not to pay attention to his own interpretation of events, who encouraged Steve to shield _his_ weakness at someone else’s expense.

If Coulson wasn’t going to be their handler, it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. All of them are intensely private in their own ways, and none are the type to air failure - their own or others - publicly. Coulson’s not stupid, by any definition of the word. On the other hand, maybe Coulson would expect this and be ready for it. He wouldn’t expect that it had been this bad of course, nor this destructive, this much Clint’s personal failure, but expect that it hadn’t been all sunshine and roses? Possibly. Nat’s a professional at getting on with people, getting into their confidence, but when she’s not trying… well, she loves Clint and probably wouldn’t damage him irreparably, but he still doesn’t contradict her all that often, or get in between her and the coffee pot, or tell her that he knows that she reads trashy vampire romance books written for teenagers. And Clint knows he’s even worse. Honestly, the only one of them anyone actually wants to live with is Steve and there was always going to be conflict between Steve’s fine upstanding morals and the fact that Stark thinks sex is a competitive sport. Coulson would think he knew why they hadn’t hit off perfectly - brilliant as he is, he’d never look deeper.

Clint is not the kind of man to cry, but he feels like sitting down and weeping over this. Still, maybe Coulson will never find out.

*

Pepper’s head appears around the door frame of the sterile recovery room. “How are you feeling, Phil?” she asks warmly.

Phil gives her a real smile. It’s been weeks since he saw someone who wasn’t a medical professional or a SHIELD agent. And he likes SHIELD agents, but it’s hard to have a conversation with someone who keeps looking at you like you’re the awful warning about what could happen to them. What happened to him was a pissed off demi-god, which makes him a bit special, but getting impaled with something unpleasant, and possibly fatal, is a concept most of the organisation is intimately familiar with. “Took you long enough. I hope you have interesting news to tell me since you couldn’t visit any sooner. Where’s Tony?”

Pepper’s reply is a tight professional smile as she takes the chair next to his bed. It’s a mask he recognises, one he wears himself. “Tony and I broke up shortly after the battle. You heard about the-?”

“Yes. I’m sorry,” he adds because it seems the right thing to say, but he’s watching her closely, looking for signs that the end of a relationship is the only reason for the tension he can see in her face. The heart monitor he’s attached to betrays the quickening of his pulse. It takes a great deal to shred Pepper Potts’ composure to this level, and he’s already readying himself for the danger it must herald. “Why, if I might ask?” he asks. “You seemed so happy together.”

“We were.” Pepper sighs and looks away. “I love him. But I can’t watch him almost die over and over again and have nothing but a missed call to remember him by.”

“Yes,” Phil says again. “That’s what my… of course, I think she would have appreciated the missed call.”

Pepper gives him a look of liquid sympathy but doesn’t pry. Instead she banters back, “She didn’t even get a missed call? You are a terrible boyfriend, Agent Coulson.”

“Next time I’m bleeding out I’ll use my remaining minutes to speak with my loved ones instead of spending my dying words on the Director.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He gives a soft huff of laughter and decides to blame how uncharacteristically expressive he is being on the drugs in his IV. “Bastard didn’t deserve my dying words anyway. He ruined my trading cards. Thank you for the replacements, by the way.”

“Tony’s idea.”

“And I thought he didn’t like me.”

Her expression shutters like a door slamming closed. “He likes you just fine. He’s a tease, I thought you knew that.”

He knows, from the way her eyes flicker towards it, that the heart monitor has recorded another spike of tension. Still, he pretends he doesn’t and doesn’t change expression, but makes his voice a little conciliatory when he says, “I work with Clint Barton. I know all about assholes with hearts of gold.” She doesn’t respond or relax, so he prods further. “Have you met Clint yet? I know all the Avengers have moved into the tower but perhaps you’ve moved out if you and Tony..?”

“We’ve met,” her voice is sharp and clipped.

Something to do with Clint, then. He exhales softly through his nose. Wonderful. He struggles into an upright position because damned if he’s going to try fixing one of Barton’s messes from flat on his back. “What’s he done?”

She falters. “Phil, I…”

“You’re obviously here to complain about him, that’s why you’ve stopped by now. Alone.” And he never plans to admit how much it hurts him that someone he thought was his friend couldn’t make it to his bedside until she had a complaint about his agent.

“Yes.” She doesn’t bother to deny it. “It takes time for the paperwork allowing a civilian in here to go through, and Tony wasn’t allowed.” Phil blinks his surprise. “But I thought you’d be in better shape. It’s not that serious; it can wait.”

He eyes her, relaxed in the seat, clearly happy to stay and talk. But if Barton’s done something, he’d rather know now. He’d rather not have anyone else, someone who might have their own grievances against Barton, particularly in light of what’s just happened, deal with it. “I can do paperwork here as well as I can anywhere else. You might as well tell me. Why wasn’t Tony allowed to see me?”

Pepper sighs, and folds her hands together. “Before I say anything, I want you to know that I’m telling you this because I trust you to deal with it appropriately while keeping it off record. It’s not something any of us want spread around for… various reasons. You don’t have to force yourself to do this to protect your people. I won’t say anything to anyone else. I can wait.”

The slight emphasis she puts on “ _your_ people” gives him a very bad feeling. So does her dark tone over the last three words.

“I’m fine.” It looks like a lie. He’s still surrounded by medical machinery, white faced and swaddled in bandages, but he knows it doesn’t sound like one. “Tell me.”

“There was some unpleasantness when the Avengers moved into the tower,” she explains, tone turned brisk and professional, which he appreciates. “I am given to believe by Rhodey – Colonel Rhodes - that Captain Rogers is at the centre of it. There was never any chance that Tony was going to be sensible around him, though I thought the Captain might have behaved better, and your agents seem to have gotten caught up in it.” She cocks her head slightly, an expression on her face that makes Phil, seasoned SHIELD agent though he is, fight down a nervous swallow. “Did you know that Tony wasn’t invited to be a member of the Avengers Initiative?”

He is reasonably certain that Pepper Potts is too classy to attack him, at least, not while he’s still bedridden. Even if she does, there’s a handgun mere centimetres away under his pillow, because Clint understands that sometimes that is necessary to sleep. Still, he quails slightly, unnoticeably, under her glare, but still uncertain of exactly _what_ the situation here is simply prevaricates with by quietly saying, “That was not my intent.”

“Did you, or did you not, want him for your team?”

“I did,” Phil replied, matching her measured tone. “He was deemed unsuitable by Agent Romanov. At that time, I agreed with her assessment and he was kept under further observation. He performed admirably for us in the General Ross situation.” Pepper narrows her eyes like she suspects sarcasm, probably because the task they gave Tony and what had actually happened were two different things, but he had achieved the intended outcome. He pretends not to notice. “It was obvious from the beginning that we would need Mr. Stark on board if we were to have any chance of defeating Loki, particularly if we were going to reclaim our people unharmed. The Director agreed with my assessment and, as you know, I was dispatched to Stark Tower. I never formally stated… I believed my intent was obvious, and I had faith that Mr. Stark would prove me correct, but it hadn’t been formally cleared with the Director so I refrained from any explicit statements.” It is not quite the truth, but it is very close.

Judging from the look in Pepper’s eyes, she knows that this explanation is missing a couple of facts, but he meets her gaze calmly, with no hint of a lie on his face, and after a moment she sighs. “All right, I can believe this happened by accident, and given the circumstances…” she waves a hand indicating the tubes and beeping machinery surrounding him.

He can’t deny his relief at his near-death experience granting him a pass. He can’t deny that the injury and the drugs are still taking a toll on his body. He can feel himself growing tired, sluggish, his reactions slowing, and he can’t let himself go like that.

Before Phil can find the question he wants, Pepper speaks again. “I am dealing with Captain Rogers,” she states implacably, the look in her eye leaving Phil extremely certain that he never wants to be on the receiving end of her wrath. “But I thought you should know about Agents Barton and Romanov’s involvement.”

“What did they do?” he asks.

Something flickers very slightly in Pepper’s gaze and he knows that this time it is she who is not being entirely truthful. “I’m not here to tell tales, Phil. There aren’t words to express my displeasure at how Tony has been treated.” Her nostrils flare slightly. “But, from what I know of Agent Barton’s role in the battle of lead up to the battle of New York…if the situations had been reversed, I imagine the board wouldn’t take it well if Tony were mind controlled to act against SI’s best interest. I assume SHIELD are be worse. I understand that there were circumstances, Tony can be…difficult. But I thought you should know that there were some interpersonal issues when your people moved into the tower.”

He nods, “I’ll take care of it. I won’t allow Barton or Romanov to just get away with…whatever. Thank you for the professional courtesy.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I ask,” Phil says calmly, “just _how_ you are punishing Captain Rogers?”

She gives him a smile so bright and savage that he thinks it might cut him. “I’m charging him rent.”

“Can you-?” Phil starts.

She sighs softly and her tone goes diamond hard, warning him against interference. “Not legally. When Tony wants to give away his property he does a damn thorough job of it. But the Captain doesn’t know that, I felt that struggling to make his rent would be something he could appreciate.”

Phil works with Natasha too, and he knows when to pick his battles, particularly those regarding excessive force and unprofessional actions of revenge. “All right then,” he says, just as calm as he was when he asked the original question.

Pepper favours him with a real smile, and glances at her watch. “I really do have to go, Phil. Maybe I can drop in tomorrow, and we’ll have a more pleasant chat?”

“That would be lovely.”

She stands, smoothing her skirt, and hesitates at the door. “Phil?”

“Yes?”

“Please take care of this problem. Just because I won’t put it on record does not mean I cannot make life extremely unpleasant, even for three formidable SHIELD agents.”

Phil imagines this is true. He has never made the mistake of underestimating Pepper Potts. He doesn’t rub at his stitches, or at the bridge of his nose to ease the pounding in his head, nor does he argue that he wasn’t even there. Pepper has done him the courtesy of bringing this to him, instead of taking it to people who would see Barton and Romanov grounded – or worse. That SHIELD’s loose cannons are now on a team of superheroes is something which has ruffled more than a few feathers. He knows that to fail at what she’s asked of him is to bring her wrath down on him, too.

“Agreed.”


	8. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

**Cuts and Bruises**

****

The worst thing isn’t what other people say and do, now they know what he is and what he’s capable of, despite all his high and mighty talk. No - that’s just what he deserves, he can accept that. The worst thing isn’t even Tony’s tiny acts of thoughtfulness, the acts that have always been there, and that now chafe like sandpaper over skin already scraped raw, each act a reminder of how wrong he was. Those acts of reflexive thoughtfulness are simply why he accepts everything else as his due, even though some days (and it hurts like burning to admit), he wants to fight back, wants to point out every cruel thing Stark said, remembers icy water cascading over his skin in retaliation. Some days it’s right on the tip of his tongue. But then he remembers the many little things that Tony does every day, that he has _always_ done since the moment they moved in, and he bites it all back.

That knowledge eats at him, a shifting, ever-present sensation in his stomach, to see Tony’s kindness, to see how badly he had wanted to be one of the team. How he had seen them as _his_ people, and protected them and cared for them as Steve himself would do, and he had accused Tony of trying to buy them. Knowing it’s untrue is too little, too late. It doesn’t change anything, because for all his flash and bang, for all his insouciant, confident masks, Steve is just beginning to understand how insecure and uncertain Tony is when you peel those surface layers back a little. Knowing the reasons behind Tony’s actions does no one any good. It is the rejection, always the rejection, that Tony remembers.

But the worst thing isn’t that knowledge, or the uncomfortable sensations it brings him, it’s the way Tony instinctively covers the soft blue glow in his chest. It breaks Steve’s heart to watch such an obviously defensive gesture, like he thinks they’d take it from him. Not that they’ve really done anything to reassure him that they wouldn’t.

All of this is tumbling through Steve’s mind like detritus down a waterfall as he picks his way slowly through the rubble towards Tony. Towards the flickering blue light that he’s pretty sure shouldn’t be flickering, but that he is painfully aware he can see it more clearly, without a hand cupped over it, than he has in weeks. Steve’s comm unit is gone, ripped free and smashed into individual components when the building came down. On one hand, he’s glad they’re not under attack, glad this is nothing more than a training accident, on the other, Tony still isn’t answering him.

He finally makes it across to the blue light. The suit doesn’t appear too damaged, but Tony is pinned down, a large concrete bar across his chest. He isn’t struggling. The Arc reactor flickers silently, Morse code in the dusty haze. Almost more worrying, Tony isn’t talking.

Steve freezes helplessly, an unfamiliar wash of icy terror coursing through him. He’s not good with modern technology, he has no idea what to do here that won’t make this situation worse. He wastes a few seconds wishing passionately and emphatically for one of the others. They must be on their way, they had his and Iron Man’s last known locations, but they’re under half a building and Bruce isn’t here with the Hulk to help with rubble removal. It’s all up to him.

Gingerly, he feels over the helmet. He needs to know if Tony’s breathing, and conscious. His hesitantly probing fingers find a couple of small depressions where ears would be and he experimentally pokes them, the face plate slides back with a hydraulic hiss.

Tony’s face is pale, eyes huge and dark. He looks as frightened as Steve feels. “Thank _fuck_ ,” he breathes.

“Tony?”

Wide dark eyes latch on to Steve’s face. “The suit is damaged,” Steve can hear him forcing his voice to be steady, “All interactive systems are out, no movement, no speakers.”

Steve swallows, remembering his careful progress through the damage towards Tony’s too-still form, and imagines Tony trapped in a suit no one can hear him in. It’s a bit too much like his own nightmares of screaming soundlessly from under the ice, so he ignores it. “You hurt?”

“I…No. I’m fine.”

“Now is not the time for heroics Tony,” Steve bites out, gaze drawn again to the inexplicably flickering light in the centre of Tony’s chest. “Are. You. Hurt?”

“What was in the thing Hawkeye shot the building with?”

For a second, Steve thinks to berate him about changing the subject, but Tony’s eyes tell him this is important. He closes his eyes for focus, thinking back to those last few confused seconds. He and Iron Man had stormed the building to rescue the hostage dummies and Black Widow had said something about a bomb and then…then…

“I don’t know,” he admits, “He said something about counteracting the signal on the explosives?”

Tony nods minutely, looking grim. “That’s what I was afraid of. I think it was an EMP blast, tried to short out the detonation connections, took out everything else electrical. The Arc reactor…It’s got some defence against that, experimental stuff, not enough apparently. I need a spare one.”

“Ooookay.” Steve doesn’t press, he won’t understand. “Do you have a spare one?”

Tony rolls his eyes, defensiveness roaring back. “Yes, I’ve got loads of space in this suit to lug about spare parts, Cap.”

Steve bites back his own comment. “I meant,” he says, with forced patience, “at the tower.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah, I’ve got a couple. Sometimes I plan for contingencies and since I actually need this to live…”

He’s starting to look insulted and Steve doesn’t think that’s actually going to achieve anything. “All right. How much time do you have?”

“Fifteen minutes? Maybe. If I don’t put my system under any stress.”

That forces a laugh from Steve, high pitched and more hysterical than he’d like. “More stress than being fifteen minutes away from death?”

Even Tony’s lip quirks a bit at that. “Yeah, no _more_ stress. So now is not the time to tell me that you’ve broken the coffee machine. Or beaten my high score. Or that there are rats down here. Or…”

Steve nods his agreement and cuts off the nervous list. “Let’s get out of here then. Can I move the beam?”

“Don’t hit me in the face with it. Otherwise, you can’t hurt me. I can’t even feel the thing through the armour, I just can’t do anything else either.”

Steve stands and surveys the problem for a second before deciding where best to lift and get the leverage he wants. The concrete is easy enough to move off Tony’s body, but when the far end moves, the wall creaks ominously. “Uh, this wasn’t load bearing, was it?”

“ _I_ don’t know Captain. I can’t turn my head.”

“Great,” Steve mutters, and crouches down beside Tony once again. “We need to get you out of the armour.”

There’s a pause, and for a second he thinks Tony will tell him to go to hell before he tells him how to forcibly extract him from his most physical defence. Then the billionaire closes his eyes resignedly. “Where seams would be on clothes, there’re depressions, the same as on the helmet. Push them, it should slide right back. It’s mechanical, not electrical, it should still work.”

Steve does so as quickly as he can. Even under these circumstances, even knowing Tony can’t feel his touch, there is something weirdly intimate about running his hands over his body like this. Tony keeps his eyes closed the whole time, like somehow whatever happens won’t be as painful if he just doesn’t have to look at Steve while he does it. When the last piece slides back, Steve grabs his hand and tugs Tony to his feet. Tony’s hands are cold, but he takes his own weight quickly and pulls his fingers out of Steve’s grip.

“We have to move,” Steve tells him earnestly, trying to ignore the fact that he’s not just pale, he’s translucent, and obviously swaying on his feet, the reactor going dark for longer and longer periods of time. He’s saved from having to explain himself by the wall creaking again and a few chunks of brick falling.

Tony nods. “Moving. Right. Because I’m all squishy now.”  

Steve hesitates for a beat, then holds out his shield to Tony. “You’re right. I’m a bit more durable than you, and I’m not on a timeframe. I can wait for help if needs be.”

Tony’s fingers convulse around the rim of the shield, then he slams it back into Steve’s chest with more force than Steve would have credited him with, since he looks like a strong breeze would knock him over right now. “No. No, you do not get to die on a training exercise because you feel bad about being mean to me.”

Steve doesn’t take it. “I’m not going to _die_ , Tony. I’m just saying-”

“What? That you’re immune to buildings falling on you? That’s not actually true, you’re just as squishy as I am.”

“Do you really want to argue about this here?”

“I have never been picky or reasonable about where and when I have arguments, ask Pepper. Take your damn shield.”

“No.”

“You are not going to do this out of some stupid search for…for absolution.”

“I’m not!” Tony looks unconvinced. He also looks quite ready to stand there and argue until Steve concedes or he keels over with heart failure, whichever happens first.

“Fine.” Steve rips his shield out of Tony’s hands, ignoring the surprised hiss of pain as the sharp metal edge rasps over Tony’s fingers. “But I warn you, I’m going to hold it over you if a wall comes down.”

“Will you hold it over me if it starts raining so I don’t get wet?” Tony mocks, but he turns and starts picking his way across the floor, towards the slivers of light they can see.

They reach the far wall in a few strides. Tony’s breath is heavier now, it sounds painful and laboured and his face is twisted. At least, until he realises Steve is watching him, and with a roll of his eyes manages to look bored.

Tony crouches and runs his hands over what is left of the collapsed side of the building. Steve eyes the creaking wall dubiously, but thinks they’re far enough away to avoid being mashed by large falling chunks. But Tony shakes his head, and makes a dry sound that could mean anything from ironic laughter to terror. “We, and by we, I mean you, can dig through this, but it’s going to take more time than I have.”

He sounds so _calm_ but Steve hears his words like a bolt of lightning to the spine. “No,” he states, implacable.

“Canna change the laws of physics, Captain,” Tony says cheerfully in a truly awful attempt at a Scottish accent. “Even with your strength, this is going to take time to move so we don’t bring the whole lot down on us, because that will help exactly nothing. And I’ve got to get back to the tower to get…anyway. We don’t have enough time.”

Steve feels time and the world narrowing down to the complete and absolute focus he always feels when things are life or death. “Do you still have your comm unit?”

“It’s shorted out like everything else, Cap. That’s what an EMP blast _does_.”

And now Steve can hear the thin thread of terror in his voice. It’s more soothing than it should be, but he’s always done better when he has someone else to bolster. “Can you fix it?”

Tony pulls it out of his ear and eyes it contemplatively, then he eyes the pieces of suit lying on the floor, unsettlingly human shaped and too still. “Yes. But what good will that-”

“Do it. I’ll start shifting this. You need to get it working and then we’ll send one of the others to the tower. They’ll bring a reactor to us, or they’ll telephone Bruce and he will. We’ll meet them half way, cut down on the time.”

Tony flinches and swallows. “ _Tony_.” Steve can hear an edge of desperation in his own voice. “I know this is more trust than I have any right to ask for, but if you don’t trust us to do this for you, you will die.”

Tony’s lips pinch together. “To change my Arc reactor…you have to put your hand right inside my chest. Your hands are too big. It’ll have to be Natasha. Agent Romanov.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you calling her Natasha.”

“She drugged me and decided I wasn’t…I don’t want her evil little assassin hands all over my insides.”

Steve makes himself laugh, and turns to the wall to stop Tony seeing his face, “You wouldn’t mind getting her hands all over your outsides.”

There’s a very long, very complete, silence. “You…you made a sex joke. You made a sex joke about _The Black Widow_.”

Steve’s ears flush, “Under the circumstances, I thought she wouldn’t mind.”

“I didn’t think you even knew what sex _was_.”

“Tony, I didn’t spring fully formed out of the ocean.”

Tony laughs himself, but it’s a weak, pathetic sound. Steve hears him start to move back towards the armour. “You were made in an action figure factory. You have Made in Washington stamped across your feet.”

“Brooklyn.”

“What?”

“Made in Brooklyn.”

Tony makes another sound, but this one is so faint Steve can hardly hear it. He half turns, and sees nothing, no blue light at all. “Tony?” he says, panicked.

A shadow at the other side of the room moves, “Wha’s’ng?” Tony slurs, trying valiantly to get to his feet to see what has put that note into Steve’s voice.

Steve forces a slow deep breath, and then another. He turns back to the wall, wishing he could smash through it without risking hurting Tony worse. “Nothing. I need you to tell me how to change the reactor, so I can tell Natasha.”

“Turn it,” Tony says, weak and faint, but clear, “Turn the one in my chest ‘til it clicks and pull it out. The new one…the wires need to be fitted to it. ‘S obvious. User friendly.”

He obviously isn’t capable of better instructions. Steve decides to take him at his word – it isn’t like he has a better choice. “All right. And where’s your spare one?”

“What?”

“Your spare Arc reactor, Tony. I need you to tell me so Bruce can get it for you.”

“Spare…Steve?”

“Yeah?” He tugs a chunk of wall half the size of a mattress out of the way and wants to cry when behind it is just more stone.

“Steve, don’ let SHIELD see.”

“See what?”

“The inside of my…they already think I can’t do this. Don’ wan’ them to see a hole in my chest. And they want the tech. They can’. I’s too much, too powe’ful.”

Steve turns to him, the light is back, but faint now, so faint and his voice is slurring again. “I won’t,” he promises, and he means every syllable. “I won’t even look okay? Just Natasha and Bruce, because you need them to help you.” The shadow makes a movement that Steve guesses is a nod. “Tell me where it is, Tony. Where’s the spare Arc reactor?” He infuses every bit of command he can into the tone.

“You can’t boss me,” Tony mutters petulantly.

Steve gapes, “You’re _dying_ and you can still manage sass.”

“’M a sass machine.”

“Tony,” he growls, the desperate edge back. He pulls another chunk of plaster and this time a circle the size of his hand opens, letting a beam of sunlight stream in. “Where?”

“In my workshop. JARVIS ‘ll tell where the safe is. Code 55678R to override the biometrics, combination 070418.” Something small rattles off the fallen rubble as Tony throws it at him. “Here. Should work.” He takes another painful sounding breath.

Steve fumbles for the small object, wrenching at more pieces of rubble and plaster, heedless of the skin shearing away from his hands. “Natasha?” he barks into it.

“Captain?” he hears a sigh and then Natasha’s voice, “I’ve got Steve on the line. He’s fine. What’s your location, Captain? Is Iron Man with you?”

“We’re in the building that fell down. I’ve got…I’m with Tony. He’s having trouble with the Arc reactor. You need to get Bruce to bring us a spare. _Now_. He’s…he needs it now.” The short clipped orders keep him grounded, even when there’s a choked sound over the line and a sharp Russian invective for Hawkeye to be quiet. Steve relates everything Tony told him, still pulling at pieces of wall. It’s only seconds before Natasha’s soothing voice is telling him that Bruce is on his way, that Tony will have a new reactor in a matter of minutes.

The hole in the wall looks big enough now. They might lose some skin getting out, but the important thing is that they’ll be out.

When he crosses the destroyed room back to Tony, for an awful moment he thinks it’s too late. Tony is as still as his armour. However, Steve is many things, but not a coward. With shaking hands, he forces himself to reach out and touch Tony’s too-cold skin. There’s a pulse beating, faint and too rapid, like the beating wings of a panicking bird. He breathes a shaky sigh of relief and picks Tony up bodily, cradling him close, like sharing his body heat will make any difference, like if he can keep Tony warm it will all be okay.

The blue glow flickers once more, like a guttering candle, and then goes out. Steve’s eyes don’t move from it as he crosses the floor with Tony in his arms, as he passes Tony through the hole to the visibly shaken Hawkeye. It doesn’t flicker back on. It takes more time than he would like to wriggle through the too-narrow gap himself, and he knows that only his suit has saved him from some vicious scratches down his back. By the time he falls on his knees by Tony’s side, the billionaire’s pulse has stopped.


	9. Thor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

**** Cuts and Bruises

 

Thor is distressed when he returns to the Army of SHIELD’s great flying fortress to find that the other Avengers are not there, but instead in the more extensive medical wing SHIELD’s New York headquarters boasts. It never ceases to trouble and startle him just how fragile these mortal creatures are. He does not dwell on it, does not even _think_ of it, but Director Fury’s brisk explanation puts a cold spike in his heart as it reminds him, once again, that he will outlive these people he has grown to care for by aeons.

He follows the Director’s instructions and does not rush or crash or bellow as he approaches the quiet room where he has learned it is Tony Stark who is being healed. For a moment he hesitates in the door, a swell of affection washing over him as he looks over them all. Tony himself is too pale and asleep, his lashes are soot dark against his white face. The Captain, his chair drawn up close to the bed and eyes fixed on Tony’s face with an intense expression, as though keeping his undivided attention on the man would be enough to keep him from harm. Banner, human and not Thor’s favourite sparring partner at the moment, is on the other side of the bed, also in a chair, fingers curled around Tony’s wrist, but eyes on the Captain, and the Lady Natasha and their archer are settled in the corner in a sprawl of limbs that looks like nothing so much as two intertwined puppies.

Thor regards them, something fierce and warm _aching_ in his breast. But he soon becomes aware of the tensions that permeate the room like a stink. The Captain’s expression is intense and focussed, but also guilty. And Banner’s expression is…not angry, Thor would be able to tell if the Doctor was enraged because he would be…well, bigger. He is accusing perhaps, watchful, untrusting. And why should he be untrusting? They are his team, they would not harm him, the Captain least of all who has a heart as pure as any Thor has ever known.

He moves slightly in the door, still quieter than is his wont, and one of the bodies in the corner shifts and, in the blink of an eye, there is a cry of warning and the Lady Natasha is standing, straddling the archer’s legs, her body protectively in front of his and a gun drawn and aimed unerringly at him. A gun will harm him little, but still, Thor raises his hands peaceably. “It is just I.”

The Lady Natasha takes a deep shuddering breath and lowers the weapon, but doesn’t holster it. Beside her Clint Barton stands, eyeing Thor with a mixture of wariness – they have barely met – and awed amusement. Thor suddenly remembers that this man saw him depowered and still able to cut through the Army of SHIELD like they were nothing to get to his hammer. He smiles at him. “Well met, brother Hawk.”

“You sound like a Tolkien movie.”

The Captain’s head turns at that, distracted from his watch over Tony, “Tolkien’s books got made into movies?”

“Oh, we totally have to do a Lord of the Rings marathon. You up for it, Banner?”

Thor is certain he is not imagining the hesitation, or the slight edge of fear, the invitation holds. Banner’s hands clench and relax convulsively around Tony’s wrists while he gives the question thought. “I’ll see what Tony wants to do,” he says at last.

No one answers that, but Thor has never been good at waiting to see what he can learn about a situation by observation. He glances, bewildered, around at those he had considered friends, all those he had feasted with after the battle, who had helped him return his brother to Asgard and who had not turned on him for wanting to do that, instead of throwing Loki to these humans’ concept of justice. “What is amiss, my friends?” he asks, forlorn at this development.

Banner’s voice is pure ice. “Well? Tell him,” he says to the Captain.

Thor shifts uneasily on his feet as he watches the Captain’s proud head dip, the slump to his shoulders becoming not just tired, but defeated.

“Back off,” Hawkeye sighs, tiredly scrubbing a hand across his own eyes. “I caused the accident. It was my fault. Lay off of Steve.”

Banner doesn’t even look at the man, just emits a low growl, and then says, in a voice tight with anger and something else, “Try- try not to remind the Other Guy of that, Barton.”

Thor’s eyes dart around the room. He is not as skilled a manipulator as Loki, but he still knows people, knows when to tell that there is a problem in his ranks. Now, every one of them in this room is radiating tension, unhappiness and animosity. This is not the peaceful happy cadre of warriors he had left.

“What has happened to Stark?” he asks, finally crossing from the door to the foot of the bed, moving between the Captain and Banner and looking at none of them. They will not hurt him, they have fought and bled together, that breeds trust, and he has nothing to do with what has evidently happened between them. Instead, his gaze lands squarely on the man laid upon the white sheets, pale and still.

“I-” Hawkeye begins, and then falls silent, curling subtly into Natasha’s hand when she lays it on his arm. Thor, who had turned around at the first word, looks back at Stark.

“Training accident,” the Captain says, voice lower than Thor is used to, but steady. Thor flicks a glance at him and sees his blue eyes are also resting solidly on Stark’s still form. He looks painfully, achingly young like this, tired and sad and worried for his friend.

Thor lays a hand on his shoulder, “He will be well,” he says in a low rumble, “your healers have cared for him.” There is more silence, thick with unease. Thor continues anyway, raising his voice a little to be clear that he is speaking to everyone, “You must not blame one another for this. I cannot even count how many times I have drawn blood, or had my own drawn, by friends and allies in the training room. It is better to make mistakes now, to lose to a friend for mere sport, than to lose to an enemy when all you love depends upon your victory.” His words have the tone of a quotation, another’s voice in Thor’s even cadence.

“I don’t blame Clint,” Steve says tiredly. And he is Steve now in Thor’s mind – it is hard to think of him as the Captain with his hair rumpled untidily above eyes dark with exhaustion. The hands he is twisting together are cut and scraped, one finger at least is twisted unnaturally.

“No one blames Clint for _this_ ,” Banner says, and there is a nasty, taunting edge to his words.

Thor motions to him for silence and then leans down, grabbing one of Steve’s arms and pulling it up into the light. Steve doesn’t resist, too surprised or plain exhausted. “You are also damaged,” Thor announces.

“Shit, Steve. Your hands look like raw hamburgers,” Clint pipes up.

Steve scowls, and Thor barely restrains a smile. He looks like a mutinous child, sent to bed before the festivities have concluded. “I’m fine. The serum-”

Banner cocks his head, eying what he can see of Steve’s hand appraisingly, and Thor abruptly remembers he too is a healer. He can see the inner turmoil behind his eyes, the deep-rooted healer’s instinct to soothe wounds, and the mysterious distrust and fury and desire for vengeance warring within him. “You should probably get your hands looked at,” he allows finally.

“I’m fine,” Steve repeats, stubborn. An admirable trait in a leader, but not one needed at this moment.

“Banner is correct, Captain,” Thor says softly. “You do not need to suffer for whatever it is that you have done.”

Banner makes a soft hiss, a sound of fury, and the Lady Natasha steps forward with a soft, “Thor!” of warning.

He waves her back confidently. “I can meet Banner’s beast on his terms if that is how he wishes to have this conversation.”

The Doctor makes another choked angry sound, and Natasha nods reassuringly. “I know. I know you can. But if the Hulk comes out in here, Tony…”

Her words douse Banner’s temper, and Thor finds himself wondering if they really were for him at all. He watches Banner settle himself back in the seat at Stark’s right hand. “Were they unkind to you?” he asks, voice like a rumble of thunder on a cloudless day, as easy as if they were the only two in the room. “Did they punish you for the destruction your…other can wreak?”

“No,” Banner says, quickly and with a twist to his lips that would suggest, if Thor didn’t know better, that he wishes it had been otherwise. “Not…not…me.”

“Then…?” Thor’s gaze maps the room, Steve and Hawkeye no longer meeting his eyes, and the Lady Natasha looking steadily at the far wall as though completely disinterested. “Stark?”

Banner nods. “Yeah,” he says, roughly. His hands are back on Stark’s wrist, assuring himself that the man’s pulse still beats.

A wave of misery rolls over Thor. It takes a great deal of energy for his father to send him to and from Midgard with the Bifrost still broken. He is here for the foreseeable future, and discord amongst his brothers-in-arms fills him with no small amount of sadness. He looks to Steve. “What led you to make this error?”

“I’m a fool,” Steve snaps bitterly, face still turned away. “I’m a fool and a bully and I wanted him to be his father and I punished him because he couldn’t be.”

Thor nods and ponders those words for a moment. “And now the truth.”

Steve looks at him, half angry and half…desolate and guilt ridden. His face is flushed. “Are you calling me a liar?”

He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds instead like a man horrified at hearing another failing added to a list of his crimes. Thor feels a frown draw his eyebrows together. “I am a god, Steve Rogers. I am not your god, but I am a god nonetheless. How many humans do you think I call Captain? How many humans’ commands do I follow?”

“I-” Steve starts.

“He doesn’t deserve it,” Banner spits.

Thor turns, and notices his fingers are no longer curled around Stark’s wrists. He probably pulled back when his skin flushed the dull green it is now. Thor shakes his head. “You must be calm, Doctor Banner.” He watches the man take several deep breaths, watches until he flushes a healthy human pink once more, and then says, “I was once so arrogant and reckless that I almost caused a war between my realm and that of Johtunheim. For this, my father cast me out, rendered me powerless and mortal and alone in a world I knew nothing of. And when I had learned my lesson, and only then, was my birth-right restored. But it was restored, because my actions were born of inexperience and misunderstanding, not malice. If Steve Rogers has committed such an error, he should be punished, but it appears he has been so and he has learned. To keep punishing him…” Thor shrugs, “it is pointless. He is not going to learn _more_ than that what he did was not the correct action. He cannot bend time and correct it.”

“You don’t even know what he did!” Banner exclaims hotly.

“I don’t need to!” Thor says, just as hotly. He stops, to calm himself, lowering his voice to manageable levels again because the humans had all flinched slightly when he shouted. “There is no ill will in his soul. Whatever it is he did and said to Stark…it was not borne of bad intent.”

“Me,” Hawkeye says, lowly. “He was protecting me.”

“You didn’t need _protecting_ from Tony.” The green look is back.

Thor regards Stark where he is sleeping, unaware of the storm raging about his bed. “As a child, I bullied and tormented Loki, because he was different and weaker and clever…too clever. He was always creating something new, and always bragging about his achievements and how I could never do half as well. Had I not…had I accepted him, and praised his cleverness, perhaps he would not be who he is now. Perhaps, had I given him the attention he sought as a child, he would believe I love him when I tell him it matters naught to me that he is not my brother in blood. Perhaps, because my arrogance and cruelty played its part in creating him, I am to blame for what happened on your world with the Chitauri. Would you like to punish me for my mistakes, Banner?” Thor is mild despite his ringing tone and his eyes never once leave the blue glow in Stark’s chest.

“I…what? No! That wasn’t your fault. You were a child, you didn’t mean it badly.”

“And this error was not the Captain’s fault, either.”

“I’m hardly a child, Thor,” Steve interjects sadly.

Thor smiles at no one. “You are all so very young to me.”

There is silence at that, no one quite knowing how to respond. Thor turns, red cape swirling majestically around him. His bright eyes alight on each of them, and he bows slightly to the Lady Natasha. “Please keep me updated of Stark’s condition. I am going to visit my Lady Jane.”

“Tony…” Banner starts. He takes off his glasses and cleans them against the material of his shirt in a nervous gesture, “Tony has a space for you to stay. At the tower. With us.”

“Thank you, that is generous. But you will forgive me if I would prefer the embrace of my fair Jane to the richest abode on Midgard.”

There’s a soft sighing sound and everyone turns to stare at Natasha. “What?” she snaps irritably, and then turns to jam a knuckle into Hawkeye’s ribs. “How come you never say stuff like that about me?”

Hawkeye darts backwards a step, glaring and rubbing his side. “Uh… because you _beat_ me?”

Steve muffles a snort, and Hawkeye winks at him. Thor smiles, glad the tension has been broken. “You can call me if you have need of me, Captain.”

“Thanks, Thor,” Steve says, sincerely, and Thor knows it is not just for the offer of help. He dips his head again in acknowledgement, then turns and leaves. He hopes he has fixed some of what is amiss between the Avengers, because here, in this realm he wants – craves – the camaraderie they had shared the night they partook of Stark’s shawarma.


	10. Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.
> 
> A/N2: Huge apology for the wait between these chapters. To those who don't know, my laptop was stolen last week and it's taken time to get a new one, tack down the lost pieces of this series (lost about 10 000 words, but not as bad as it could be) and get my laptop set back up. We should now be back to a regular posting schedule.
> 
> A/N3: This chapter contains my absolute favourite line for the entire series thus far. One internet will go to the person who can guess what it is. Melpemone, you are excluded because I already told you when you were beta-ing :)

**Cuts and Bruises**

 

It had taken an embarrassingly long time to discover what had been happening amongst the Avengers. Coulson is bitterly disappointed with himself for allowing that to be the case, for allowing him to need Pepper Potts to clue him in that something was amiss. He should have known what to look for. He was a trained expert in interrogation, in reading people’s body language and hearing the unsaid. And whilst Barton and Romanov were skilled in hiding their tells, they had no reason to hide from him. He should have been able to see that there was _something_ wrong.

Coulson had decided to blame the severity of his wound and the potency of the drugs he is still on. It was a good excuse - he’d only been conscious for a matter of weeks, and for much of them hadn’t been operating at full mental capacity. In the quiet part of his mind that he didn’t share with anyone, he found himself wondering if that was perhaps a good thing. He hates to even think it, but much as he has a soft spot for Tony Stark, as much as (after all the coffees and lunches with Pepper) he can see through the smile and swagger, he has been known to be a little…protective of those under his care. And Barton and Romanov are under his care in a way that Tony is simply not. And Tony’s mask has sharp edges, and is capable of inflicting deep wounds, particularly on people as vulnerable as his agents still are. The best weapon Tony has is his words, words more cutting than any blade and Coulson knows himself well enough to admit that he would have had no qualms about protecting his own, under any circumstances. Viciously. Pepper has nothing on him when his protective streak is roused.

Coulson knows all about consummate masks. He chooses to project one around himself at all times. But operating less than optimally, knowing Tony more than capable of at least some of the things Barton would have accused him of …yes, Coulson can see how his own actions might have unwittingly made this worse.

With all of that in mind, he chooses to be grateful for his unforgivably slow realisation. What he cannot forgive so easily, is that he expects _more_ of his assets. They are the best and they should act like it, not indulge in childish squabbles and assumptions. Ultimately, he feels hurt. The three of them have worked together for years, and are always uneasy when their assignments split them up. Coulson could say with conviction that it was impossible to assume that they hadn’t read his reports on his interactions with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. Outside even of that, they were friends. He had talked about the man. Not extensively, but enough for Barton to realise that Tony wasn’t an ass intentionally. All right, he was, but not maliciously so.

He had spoken less often of Pepper. Civilian friends are not technically restricted, but it was, especially at Coulson’s level, discouraged. All it did was made that person a target. But when Coulson had expressed this concern, Pepper had completely disregarded it with a laugh, pointing out, that as Tony Stark’s PA and Iron Man’s girlfriend, she was always in danger of being a victim to some nefarious scheme. Still, Coulson didn’t talk about her much, as you never knew who might be listening, but it hurt to realise that the little he _had_ said had been so disregarded. He had always been willing to act on the vaguest possibility of a suspicion Barton or Romanov brought to his attention.

All of this is why he finds himself facing Romanov across the small hospital room. He’s still not well enough to stand, nor to even get out of bed, but he’s had the bed raised to leave him sitting and is propped against two large pillows. Some of his usual steel must be back in his demeanour because Romanov is standing at the foot of the bed, eyes calculating but fixed above his headboard at a sloppy imitation of parade rest instead of fussing over him like she usually is. “Agent,” he greets cordially.

She nods, and changes neither stance nor expression. “Sir.”

“I believe you have a report for me.”

That brings her eyes briefly to his, searching for something. Coulson keeps his face blank and waits.

“I wasn’t aware you had been returned to duty sir. My report on the mission was filed with Agent Hill as my temporary handler.”

Hill is always their primary temporary handler when it is Coulson out of action, even though she rarely goes into the field herself. She’s one of the few who can match his security clearance, so it makes sense. But he knows Hill – _they_ know Hill. He reminds himself to speak with her later, and his estimation of Barton and Romanov drops lower. They should have known better. He gives a pitying smile, and says softly, “We both know that was a pathetic deflection, Natasha.” He rarely calls her by her name when on SHIELD premises, and that he does so now makes her shift her weight slightly, with either unease or guilt.

“My general status report on my recent relocation to Stark Tower has also been filed with Agent Hill, sir.”

Coulson makes the deliberate decision to throw some of his cards on the table, not all of them, but some. He allows an ounce of steel to slip past his unruffled façade. “And I will be speaking to Agent Hill later. But first, I want to know what you and Agent Barton are hiding from me.”

She does not, by the slightest flicker of expression or hesitation give herself away, but her voice is, perhaps, a touch too defensive as she says, “We’re not hiding anything.”

They could conceivably do this all day and he will learn nothing. Instead, he changes tack abruptly, sinking subtly back into the pillows as if relaxing. “When are Tony and Pepper coming to visit?” he asks, following a hunch.

Almost imperceptibly, Romanov flinches. But her voice is completely neutral as she says, “I’ll find out.”

Coulson is quick to pounce on the moment of weakness. “Living with a multi billionaire not to your tastes, Natasha?”

That drags the sort of reaction from her that Coulson would usually assume was faked, because the Black Widow does not, ever, lower her gaze unless she means to. But he can see by the set of her shoulders that she’s trying to remain impassive, and can tell by the way her eyes flicker that she knows she’s made a mistake. “What happened?” he asks in the calm voice he’s perfected after years of demanding SITREPS in the field under astonishingly stressful conditions.

“I- Teething problems, living with Stark. You know how he can be.”

Coulson doesn’t miss the way the guilty flinch is back as she utters the words, but he nods slowly and agrees, “I do. I know exactly how he can be. As did you before going along with the relocation.”

“Yeah, well I wasn’t there most of the time. I had a mission,” Romanov snaps without thinking, too relaxed with him to have censored the instinctive words.

Coulson gives her a slightly predatory smile. “Ah. So you weren’t there to be dealing with _how Stark can be_. And we both know how _Clint_ can be in the aftermath of a clusterfuck of a mission.”

She looks at him blankly, control regained. “I suppose. You’d have to ask him. I’m sorry sir, but I only came in to see how you were doing. The Director is expecting me for a briefing about the Avengers Initiative.”

It’s a sloppy lie and a poorly thought out escape. Coulson clicks his tongue disappointedly, “The Director is expecting no such thing, because he’s in a conference call with the WSC all morning.” At her baffled look he adds, “He was here an hour ago.”

She doesn’t say anything further, merely nods and reaches for the door.

“Agent Romanov, I haven’t dismissed you.” She freezes at his tone and Coulson presses his advantage. “Sit down.” She turns then, and the look she gives him is dark with near murderous fury. He knows he’s taking his life in his hands right now, he’s too weak, still too injured to even think of defending himself against the Black Widow in this state, gun under the pillow or not, but he doesn’t flinch or lower his gaze, merely stares her down and waits. After a few long seconds Natasha strides to the bedside and drops into the chair there. “Thank you,” he says softly, and means it. “Now, tell me what happened?”

Romanov still doesn’t answer, she’s looking at the floor, and that tells Coulson all he needs to know really, even if he’s still lacking the details. There are only two people Natasha would protect this vehemently and he’s one of them.

He sighs heavily, and asks the question he’s asked of many people in SHIELD, but never of Natasha. He’s never wished to find out if she would answer truthfully. “What’s Barton done now?”

That brings her eyes snapping back up to his. “It wasn’t his fault…wasn’t _entirely_ his fault. I should have been clearer in my report on Stark. And I knew what he thought of him and knew it was wrong and I should have corrected that, instead of hoping it would sort itself out.”

“But you didn’t, so instead of explaining to me _why_ Agent Barton is not to blame, try telling me what he’s not to blame _for_.”

“He and Stark didn’t exactly…hit it off.”

Coulson raises an eyebrow and waits patiently.

“I mean, that was to be expected. But Stark…” her eyes narrow, not in viciousness but in thought, and she suddenly looks at him and says, “Did you tell Stark he was part of the Avengers Initiative?”

Coulson blinks, unsurprised by the sudden attack, since he knows this is the root of the problem from Pepper. “Yes,” he answers calmly. “Or at least, I strongly implied.”

“Can I ask why I wasn’t informed of that decision, sir?” she asks, voice tight and eyes sharp.

“Because it is pointless to give senior agents an important task like profiling a character like Stark with the Initiative in mind and then not take their advice. The Director and I-”

“The Director knew this too?”

He can tell by her voice that this is something to return to, but simply responds, “I am probably the closest thing Nick Fury has to family, but I still wouldn’t presume to invite people to join his secret organisation and pet project without express permission.” It brings a very slight smile to her lips and the tension loosens slightly. “The Director and I felt you made a lot of good points about Stark, but we had been watching him for some time. You were-”

“You wanted to see how he reacted to knowing that SHIELD could get inside his bubble at any time.”

“Indeed. That is exactly what we wanted to do, and it had to be someone who hadn’t seen the records we had already begun building, someone who would see him as a newcomer would, so that we could give Stark feedback on interacting with individuals who would not be impressed with his name. We used you to test his group integration skills. They were…less than we had hoped, so his invitation to the Avengers was postponed. Still, there was never any doubt that he would be an early addition to the Initiative. The situation with Loki forced our hand a little, but it merely expedited things by a few months. Stark has improved in every area noted in your initial assessment.”

Romanov has visibly paled at the concise explanation. “Why do you ask?” Coulson finishes, unfamiliar dread in his stomach.

“I…damn it, Phil. You should have said something!”

Coulson doesn’t waste time pointing out that he wasn’t in the habit of discussing classified plans with his agents. His agile mind, which has already been turning over this problem all night, is already racing ahead. “You operated on the information you already had. You told him he wasn’t an Avenger and was just a consultant and he…overreacted?” At Romanov’s look, he shakes his head slightly. “No, of course he didn’t. I didn’t actually say to Stark ‘welcome to the Avengers’, so he thought he had misunderstood, and of course, I’ve never met a man with greater depth of insecurities masked with flashy arrogance, and I spend more than half of my waking hours with Barton. So he _didn’t_ overreact, he started trying to prove himself. But since most elementary school children have better social skills than he does, it backfired horribly on him.”

There is a silence. Romanov’s look enough to tell him he is right, but Coulson is gazing into the middle distance, considering. “I can understand Barton. He had been my asset for three years before he would accept gifts from me at Christmas. His trust issues make Banner’s look proportionate. And as you say, you weren’t there, and if he pushed Barton far enough you would side with him. Your trust in Barton’s instincts would override your own opinion of Stark, which wasn’t all that positive to begin with, because we sent you in when he was at his worst, deliberately to get a read on him in difficult situations.”

Romanov knows what is coming next. With Coulson’s eyes now fixed on her, knowing she can’t hide or escape or deflect because he knows her too well. He sees her curse herself again for a fool at letting these SHIELD agents so close.        

“What I don’t understand,” Coulson continues slowly, “is why Captain Rogers wouldn’t put a stop to it. Director Fury told me Stark flew a nuke into the portal at great personal risk and single handedly ended the conflict. That seems like something which would forge at least a possibility of friendship, even between such diverse personalities as Stark and Captain America.”

It’s not a question, but still, it demands a response. “Steve,” she says softly, “was given to believe that Stark had a plan. That the action was brave, certainly, but he already knew Stark was courageous. He wanted to know if he’d lay everything on the line. I told him he wouldn’t.” She doesn’t make excuses.

Stupidly, Coulson feels an ember of jealousy that she is apparently familiar enough with him to call Captain America by his given name. “I think you had best tell me everything, Agent Romanov,” Coulson says implacably.

She doesn’t comply, he knows she doesn’t comply, but she tells him enough.

*

Coulson decides to speak to Barton and hear what report he will give before speaking again with Nick. And he means speaking with in the loosest sense of the word - if his chest weren’t still held together with more stitches than that time in Tampa when his leg was opened to the bone, he would like to remind the Director why he can’t _make_ him do anything. And that he, more than anyone else, follows Fury’s lead out of loyalty and duty. He would remind him painfully. He had already been half tempted to shoot the man for destroying his trading cards… at least until the far superior replacements Stark had sent him had turned up.

Still, patience is a virtue he has honed to an expert form, and he can wait to speak to Barton first and shoot the Director later if he still has the urge. Manipulation for the greater good is all very well, but you can’t just throw people as damaged as Romanov and Barton into a situation with someone as monumentally fucked up as Stark without giving them reason to believe that he is worth making the effort. He had always had misgivings about using Natasha to assess Stark’s readiness for the Initiative, but had been forced to agree with Nick’s argument that a female agent would have more success getting close - and Natasha was the best.

Barton has obviously already been informed by Natasha what this meeting will entail, and slinks into the room looking like a defiant little boy, ready to defend his actions to the hilt. In fact, Coulson doesn’t have to say anything - he can just lie there, listening in between the lines to the absolutely raw guilt, as Barton explains to him that yeah, okay, he was wrong about Stark, but it had been a complete accident and it wasn’t _his_ fault that Stark couldn’t control his mouth, and that Stark had given back as good as he got with that robot butler of his and he was trying harder now and please, Phil, don’t pull me off the Avengers too.

Coulson waits until he’s talked himself into silence, heart aching for him. He’s coldly, utterly furious with his behaviour, but he feels for him too. Barton’s tone would have seen to that even if Natasha hadn’t let anything slip. “Why would I pull you off the Avengers?”

Barton flounders for a moment, then straightens and tilts his head in that specific way he has when he’s admitting to something he’s ashamed of but refusing to cringe. “I hit him.”

“You-” that shocks Coulson to a rare speechlessness, something Barton usually takes pride in. “Jesus, Barton, he’s a civilian.”

Barton twitches slightly. “I know.” He hesitates and then says, deliberately, but sincerely. “I’m sorry.”

“Have you said that to him?”

“Ummm…not as…he said it didn’t matter.”

Coulson nods peacefully. He’s not going to have an argument with Barton about why he should apologise. He’s not a toddler. “Why did you hit him?” he asks, the deceptively mild question scarily intent. He needs to know that Barton had a reason, or if he simply responded in anger.

Barton looks for a second like he’s not going to answer. He fidgets, more obviously uncomfortable than Natasha, but forces himself to say, “I thought he was hitting on Tash.”

That almost makes Coulson laugh. “Stay away from my girl?” he questions, deadpan, a sinking sensation in his stomach. That’s…that’s compromised, compromised enough that Coulson will have no choice but to suggest Barton’s removal from the Avengers Initiative until psych clear him. “You do know what she does on her missions?”

Barton visibly flinches. “It’s different. Stark is…he’s a genius, rich, actually good at those suave parties Tash pretends she doesn’t like. He’s, let’s be fair, easy on the eye and he’s got a suit of armour that gives him better super powers than being really good with a bow and arrow. I panicked. Sir.”

Coulson shakes his head. “But you and Agent Romanov have been together for years, and I assure you he’s not the first suave, rich gentleman to make a play for her. You’ve never over-reacted like that before.”

“I got…he was _persistent_ ,” Barton says, and adds defensively. “It’s all over her report from profiling Stark, he was constantly flirting with her, even though he was with Pepper Potts five minutes later.”

Coulson rarely repeats information he has not personally verified, but he trusts Pepper’s judgement on the matter of Tony Stark implicitly. “He was trying to get Pepper’s attention.”

Barton gapes for a moment. “That’s stupid.”

Coulson raises an eyebrow, “Of course,” he says, bland as always, “you’ve never made misguided sexual overtures to a third party in an attempt to pull your actual interest’s pigtails. You certainly didn’t spend the better part of eight months trying increasingly inappropriate tactics to get me in to bed in order to get Agent Romanov to notice you, and you had no reason to suppose that Stark might have the same grade school style of attempting to woo Ms. Potts.”

Barton is silent. It’s actually quite an achievement to render him such, but today Coulson takes no satisfaction in it. They look at one another.

“Are you going to recommend my removal from the Initiative, sir?” Barton asks at last.

Coulson pretends he can’t hear the faint edge of pleading under the words. He sighs and looks down, letting his frustration seep into the words. “I have to, Barton. You can’t just go around hitting civilians. You know better than that. You’ve got better control than that.” He looks up, meeting Barton’s gaze steadily. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Clint hesitates minutely, then says all in a rush, “I put Stark in the hospital. Training accident. I was more interested in achieving the mission objectives than in concentrating on where the rest of my team was.”

Phil pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll give you an hour. Go down to the psych department now, and sit their test. If you pass, we’ll assume that the situation is over. If you don’t…” _it’ll be extra evidence against you_ goes unsaid. “We’ll deal with the problem as it arises. There’s no shame in being benched for a while after an experience like Loki.”

Barton dips his head in a short, sharp nod, and turns to leave. It’s obvious he disagrees, that he does feel there’s shame in being damaged like this. At the sound of the door closing, Coulson shuts his eyes and sighs through his nose in an attempt to stave off the incipient headache. He hates disciplining his agents, he particularly hates it when it’s an incident that should never have happened. Somebody else must have seen what was happening.

When he feels less like the pain in his head is going to make him throw up, he opens his eyes again and gazes sightlessly up at the ceiling. He can think of all the reasons in the world for why this is somebody (anybody) else’s fault, but the fact remains that his agents are grown adults and more than capable of being responsible for their own actions. Alien demi-god mind control not-withstanding. Even so, there’s a reason agents have handlers. It’s because, that close to the ground, it’s sometimes hard to see the big picture. Someone should have seen this was happening and stepped in, and Coulson knows just who that person should have been.

He’ll speak to Hill at his earliest convenience.


	11. Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

**Cuts and Bruises**

****

**  
**

Natasha  would never tell him. She had known Clint wouldn’t pass a psych evaluation, but to tell him would be to hurt him in such  way that he would never recover.  He wasn’t truly ready to be on the Avengers, she had told Steve as much, and now that Coulson is conscious, and back as their handler, Steve doesn’t have quite the same autonomy anymore.

Coulson doesn’t still blush talking to Steve, (or talking about him, or looking at him), apparently finding out what had happened had taken too much  off Steve’s Captain America shine,, - but even if that had not been the case, Coulson is more than capable of standing up for what he believes in - even when he is about to swoon from fanboyish glee. Steve doesn’t complain when Coulson points out that attacking a civilian without cause is enough to get him court-martialled, and they really should be grateful it’s nothing worse than a suspension.

Clint doesn’t come home and cry. Natasha suspects that would actually be a healthier coping mechanism, but it is not one she is equipped to deal with, so she’s profoundly grateful he doesn’t give into the impulse. He looks like a ghost of himself, pale and unutterably weary, and a tight steel band clenches around her heart. She doesn’t _love_ him of course, Natasha Romanov doesn’t love anyone. It’s an emotion for naïve children and she is nothing of the sort. Still, her life is entwined tightly with his and she doesn’t like to see him in pain.

She runs her knuckles over Clint’s cheek, harder than can truly be called a caress, but  it’s the softest she can be. He turns his head into it and grins. It’s a good grin, strong, but it’s a little too wide and a little too bright. “I’m on vacation, Tash,” he says cheerfully.

She nods, and gives a smile of her own, more realistic than his, she hopes. “You deserve it.”

He flinches and his eyes drop, the smile peeling off his face. “Sorry.”

She shakes her head as his shoulders tense. She can feel his senses stretching as he switches from being Clint to being Hawkeye of SHIELD, ready for action and an eye on every point of access, instead of being playful and relaxed and certain he is safe.

“Stand down.” It’s the only thing she can think of to say, a command to keep him relaxed and grounded.

He tilts his head in a parody of submission that’s all teeth and viciousness. “You can’t tell me what to do, Tash, I outrank you.”

“I will cognitively recalibrate you again if you don’t get your голова out of your задница.”

He hisses like an angry cat and steps aggressively forward. They are already close, and his step presses them together, body to body. She can feel the heat of him, the solidity. The last time she had felt threatened by Clint had been two months after he brought her in, when he caught her with a knife pressed to the back of Coulson’s neck. But she feels threatened now. “You’re an idiot,” he growls.

She doesn’t step back, doesn’t give ground, but she doesn’t press in towards him either. The one constant of Clint Barton has always been that he would claw through solid concrete with his bare hands to protect the few close to him, he would cut out his own heart before he hurt them, but this time, for the first time, she isn’t certain that will hold him back. She is far from certain enough to try and manipulate those instincts. “Why?” she asks instead, voice steady but throat dry.

Clint gives a dark, ugly laugh. “Who knows what Loki left in my head? And even if there’s nothing there, it’s perfectly obvious that I’m dangerous, unstable.” He runs a possessive hand up her side, palm flat and warm, and it should be comforting, a touch he has given her so many times, but she has to fight not to flinch away. “You sleep next to me, Tash. Unconscious. Helpless. I could do _anything_ to you. Even you aren’t quick enough to stop me.”

She steps back, a noise tearing its way out of her throat, and the dark look abruptly falls from his face. “You wouldn’t,” she says with a surety she doesn’t feel. “I trust you.”

But the damage is done. Her step back is a more vicious blow than any weapon she could have mustered against him.

He smiles, but, this time, it’s a mask she can see through. “You shouldn’t.”

She could talk him into bed with her easily. She felt his tension, and adrenaline in Clint Barton is intimately tied in with lust - a Pavlovian response to so many celebrated ops. But she won’t sully their bed with this mess, and sex won’t fix anything. She won’t bring her work tricks of sexual manipulation between them. That is a very sacred rule. “Go to the range, Clint. Go show Stark your hitting a bull’s-eye with a spork trick, he’ll be very impressed.”

He runs hands through his hair, frustrated. “Are you even listening to me? I could hurt _you_ , kill _you_. And you want me to hang out with Stark. With weaponry.”

“You won’t hurt him. And you’ll be firing sporks, they’re hardly deadly. And you could kill me if I was sleeping. Maybe.”

That raises a slight smile. “I could _totally_ kill you if you were sleeping.”

“Go hang out with Stark. He’d want to help.”

“Fine. But if I kill _him_ , you have to protect me from Pepper Potts.”

She smiles and doesn’t answer, and sags against the wall when he leaves. He won’t hurt Tony, of course he won’t hurt Tony. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, Agent Romanov?”

“Monitor the range. If Clint’s heart rate goes higher than 120 beats per minute sedate him.”

“…Very well Agent Romanov.”

She goes to find Steve.

*

“Clint’s off rotation.”

He doesn’t look up from the pencils he is fiddling with, tidying and straightening them in the pencil box. “I know. Agent Coulson told me.”

She studies him from the doorway, her leaning stance emitting a casualness she doesn’t feel. “You had the talk with Coulson, then.”

He jerks, like he wants to look up and can’t make himself do so. “What?”

“The why-didn’t-you-try-to-understand-Stark? talk.”

“Yes,” he admits. “I didn’t think…I am such a fool.”

She shrugs gracefully. “You’re a man, it’s expected.”

“I should have benched Clint _weeks_ ago.”

“He should probably never have been allowed on the Initiative in the first place,” she agrees, lightly. “But could you have stood seeing him believe more and more deeply that we didn’t trust him? That we _shouldn’t_ trust him?”

“No. But I shouldn’t have let him…I should have stopped him, watched him. Violence doesn’t solve anything, I know that. I know _better_ than that.” His voice roughens, “Even when I thought Tony deserved…even if he _had_ deserved, I should have realised that Clint’s actions were far beyond the line. I should have stopped him.”

Natasha thinks for a moment. “Your Peggy Carter,” she says suddenly. “She was one of the very few women at any given base you were at, I imagine.”

“Yes,” Steve admits after a pause, either deciding whether or not to tell her, or is simply off put by the sudden shift in subject, she isn’t sure.

“And you never stopped any locker room talk about her?”

“Well I… of course I did. But I never had to… I never had to be violent. I was, after the serum I mean, I was a big guy. Just telling the other fellas to shut their mouths was enough.” Steve smiles fondly. “Peggy hit some guy once. On our very first day of Basic.”

“And you never thought that it was too much that she used violence to defend herself?”

“She had the right to defend herself,” Steve says hotly. “She shouldn’t have had to put up with those kinds of lewd remarks.”

“Of course. And you and Clint thought you were protecting me from the same.”

“It’s _different_. Clint could have really hurt him. We waited for him, _ambushed_ him, and the whole time I stood there, backing Clint and making it clear to Tony that he was facing two, not one, and that one of them had super strength.”

“And if you hadn’t gone, hadn’t let Clint get in that one punch?”

“He…” Steve breaths out. “He was pretty mad.”

That almost raises a smile. “I can imagine. You would have had to take him down, most likely by force. You’d have had to take him off the Avengers, tell him he was psychologically unsound.”

“Being the leader means making the hard choices. Just because I didn’t want to do something, I shouldn’t have…and since he was pulled for assault, it’ll be on his record now.”

“True. I’m not saying what you did was right, Captain. He should never have been allowed to touch Stark, but…we knew Clint wasn’t quite ready. SHIELD certainly knew. This would have happened anyway. He would have been pulled off the team, and at least he didn’t hit some random barista who made his coffee wrong. Stark is one of us. He’s man enough to take the bad times as well as the good.”

“All we gave him were bad times.”

“We’ll make it up to him,” she says with calm, resolute certainty.

It drags a smile out of him. “We will?”

“Of course we will. We look after our own, Captain. That’s why Barton is here, under house arrest, instead of in a holding cell after trashing the ‘carrier upon hearing the results of his evaluation.”

“I…didn’t know that.”

Her eyes twinkle at him though her face remains placid. “Well, now you do. This was going to happen _anyway_. He’s had anger ready to explode out of him since you wouldn’t let him put that arrow through Loki’s face after the battle.”

 _Captain, it would be my genuine pleasure_ Steve thinks suddenly, recalling the dark, ugly undertone. “I guess. I still feel badly about Tony.”

She clicks her tongue. “It’s done. Your guilt changes nothing. The best you can do now is make amends.”

“Even so…”

“Even so nothing, Captain. Do you imagine he feels any better knowing you are up here feeling guilty?”

“I…I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix it.”

She fixes her eyes on the man she has agreed to follow and thinks that love is for children, and for this man. He loves deeply, too deeply, and has never learned that to do so is a mistake. “You can’t fix it. It is done. It is broken. All you can do is build something new. You can show him you trust him now, even when all the evidence is against him, even when it is obvious he is the villain, you can trust him to explain that it is not so.”

He looks at her, pleading and hopeful. “And that works?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes that kind of trust just means that your highly trained assassin friends hit civilians because you trust them to be right even when you are uncertain.”

He snorts and dips his chin in a sharp nod. “Thank you, Natasha. That’s extremely helpful.”

“Is Captain America being sarcastic?”

“I’m allowed to be sarcastic to Russians.”

She laughs, for real, and offers him a hand. “I can kick your задница, super serum or not.” Steve just smirks and lets her pull him up. “Let’s go and get Clint off the range. Stark should be with him too. Maybe we can grab Doctor Banner and Thor and have a movie night?”

“I’d like that.”

*

It doesn’t go to plan. When they get to the range, Tony and Clint are arguing. Well, no, that’s not quite right, Natasha realises as she speeds up and pushes her way close enough to hear them. They are both shouting, but they seem to be agreeing. They both round on her as she stops in front of them, forcing her breath to slow and her face to reveal nothing. Her eyes skim over the range, at the bow held a little too tightly in Clint’s hand and the high flush of angry colour on Stark’s cheekbones and the six sporks shot into a perfect circle on the farthest target. “Problem?”

“Tasha! Arrows!” Clint snarls.

Natasha blinks. She speaks Clint usually, but that was incomprehensible even to her. “Explain.”

“ _You’re_ the one who sent back the quiver of arrows I made Clint,” Tony says. He has the same sharp edged calm he had when he discovered who she was and that she’d infiltrated his company.

“Yes,” she agrees. She could lie, but she never had any intention of hiding this.

“So when I do it, it’s unacceptable, but it’s totally reasonable for you to go through _my stuff_ and tell me what I can and can’t handle?” Clint demands.

She blinks again. “Did you want the arrows, Clint, or would yet another amazing gift from Tony just have made you horribly uncomfortable?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I think it _is_ the point, since _I_ managed to thank Stark for the things he’d made me, and you managed to get yourself suspended for punching him when you got unsettled about things he was giving other people.”

“Suspended?” Tony repeats blankly. “For…but I’m not pressing charges.”

“SHIELD doesn’t take kindly to its agents beating on helpless bystanders _regardless_ of whether or not they press charges,” Natasha snaps.

Tony flinches at her tone and she instantly regrets it, but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he begins listing on his fingers, “Okay, one, I’m not helpless, and two, Barton barely touched me. It was more a love tap really. Honestly, I’ve had rougher sex; and how did SHIELD find out?”

“I told Coulson,” Clint admits.

“You’re an idiot,” Tony informs him. “You never admit to guilt Barton. It was like that when you got here, the best lesson Homer Simpson ever taught anybody.”

Natasha can see Clint panting, she’s not sure exactly what emotion he’s supressing but he’s definitely trying to keep a lid on something. “You need to calm down.”

“Calm- I am _fucking_ calm.”

“Not calm enough, and if your heart rate rises any more JARVIS will sedate you.”

“What?” Stark says, “Why?”

“I asked him to.”

Clint roars, pain and rage and fear and betrayal rolled into one sound.

“JARVIS, cancel that command,” Tony snaps, as Steve steps forward behind Clint, not touching him but a solid presence, “Don’t sedate anyone. Damn it, is your response to everyone to jam some form of drug in them? You’re like…you know, I don’t even have an amusing comment about this, that’s how fucked up it is.”

“You were worried about hurting Stark,” Natasha objects as Clint turns a truly furious expression on her.

“And you said you trusted me.”

“I _lie for a living_ Clint. Don’t be such a baby.”

“You know what, you’re not helping,” Tony says.

“Shut up,” Clint snarls, “Leave her alone.”

The flinch is more obvious this time as Tony curls into himself at the tone. “Ignore them,” Steve says, leaving Clint’s side as Natasha steps a little closer, her head cocked assessingly, but body not in a fighting stance, “they have a…strange way of showing affection.”

“I…okay,” Tony agrees, still watching them, wide-eyed.

Natasha isn’t self-conscious about it at all as she pulls Clint’s head down into the junction between her neck and shoulder. She whispers to him, jumbled old codes, safe phrases, reminding him at the fundamental levels of his training that he is safe here, that he is not hurt, that she is with him.

“Come on,” she hears Steve say behind her. “I think this is private.”

The door opens and shuts, but she doesn’t turn. Only when the room is empty, silent but for the breathing that Clint has synchronised with hers, does he raise his head. “Tash. _Tasha_?”

“What is it?” He shakes his head and doesn’t say anything. “Did JARVIS sedate you?”

“What? No! I didn’t do anything.”

“Then I was right. You didn’t need watching, you didn’t need a safeguard.”

He tilts his lip in a very small smile. “Good save.”

“I’m a professional.”

“You were right not to trust me.”

“I _do_ trust you.”

“Personally, I arrange with JARVIS to sedate everyone I trust too.”

She punches him in the shoulder, hard, but doesn’t loosen her embrace either. “I do trust you. I sleep beside you and you could kill me if I was asleep.”

That stops him. There is only one other person who Natasha will sleep in front of and, though she trusts Coulson implicitly, she still wakes when he moves. Clint snores and steals the blankets and sometimes stays up watching the late night creature feature or gets up early to hit the range, and she still sleeps eight hours a night, uninterrupted. “I…even now?”

Her eyes bore intensely into his. “Even now.”

“But I’m-”

“Think very carefully about what you are about to say. I beat up people who say mean things about my boyfriend.”

“Seriously Tasha. I’m…compromised. There’s red in my ledger.”

“Clint, how many times have I been suspended for beating someone up?”

He smirks, “In total? I don’t even know anymore.”

“Exactly. You need…time, whatever. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s not just…I lost control. Again. It’s like…Loki took it and I can’t get it back.”

“You will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I do.”

“Because _how_?”

“Because it just takes time to make yourself again. Just time. Not magic.”

Once more he rests his head against her shoulder, and she can feel warm puffs of breath on her throat. “I don’t know,” he says, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Do you trust me?”

The answer this time isn’t hesitant at all. “Yes.”

“Then trust that what I am saying is true.” He sighs and straightens. Natasha gives him a moment to pull the aura of calm confidence over himself again, and then she holds out her cell phone. “Good. Now call Coulson, apologise for breaking whatever shit you broke, and arrange your damn therapy sessions.”


	12. Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

**Cuts and Bruises**

 

He still isn’t cleared for duty, but that doesn’t stop Agent Coulson from heading to Hill’s office virtually as soon as he can stand unaided. He’s limping slightly by the time he makes it to that end of the helicarrier, but he slows a little and smooths out his walk, hiding that weakness as he draws up to Hill’s door. He brushes past Agent Stiles, Hill’s PA, with little more than a nod. Stiles doesn’t say anything, which tells Coulson that Hill is on her own in there, and that he is possibly more of a legend, having survived Loki’s death sceptre than he was before. He knocks twice and pushes the door open without waiting to be invited.

“Coulson,” Hill greets without looking up.

“Good guess.”

“Wasn’t a guess. Fury doesn’t knock, and everyone else would wait for permission.” There’s a slight rebuke hidden under there somewhere.

Coulson gives Hill his patented harmless smile and moves closer to the desk. If he can’t work in the field with Clint or Natasha, he would rather have Hill as his next choice. She is one of the best agents he has ever had the privilege of working alongside. She is brilliant at everything she does: a superb field agent, a better director. She is one of a handful of people whose decisions and tactics Coulson is willing to take at face value. They have never seen eye to eye.

She looks up as he approaches and simply watches him. Normally, he’d pull out the chair in front of her desk and settle himself in it, but this time he returns her frank scrutiny, letting a hint of the predator he is capable of being into his eyes. It doesn’t intimidate her in the slightest, but then, Coulson hadn’t expected any differently.

Hill breaks the staring contest first. She waves nonchalantly at the seat in front of her. “Sit down before you fall down. I don’t have time for Barton’s amateur dramatics if you die. Again.”

Coulson doesn’t rise to the bait. He does take the offered seat though, because his chest hurts and he has no intention of collapsing on Hill’s floor. “I need you to bring me up to date on the Avengers,” he says mildly.

Hill looks at him suspiciously, too long acquainted with his mild-mannered easily-forgettable routine to be fooled by it. “I wasn’t aware you had been returned to active duty.”

“Now you are.”

She huffs. Hill probably knows he’s lying, but she doesn’t say anything, just leans over, pulling out a slim folder and sliding it across her desk. Coulson accepts it, and makes a show of paging through it. “How strange. This doesn’t have any record of how you dealt with the burgeoning inter-team problems.” 

Hill’s face freezes, “Problems?” she asks, casually, her response just a beat too late.

“Yes, Maria, problems. You must have been aware that there was some animosity between Mr. Stark and the others.”

Hill snorts an indelicate laugh. “Please, Phil,” she says condescendingly. “You have _met_ Stark, haven’t you? Did you really think there’d be anything _but_ animosity?”

Coulson gives her another bland smile, even as he seethes internally. “I think whether that is true or not it is irrelevant. The fact is that, as temporary handler, you should have been managing that situation.”

“They’re _adults_ , Phil. Not children. Not counting Barton. I have more important things to do with my time than making sure Stark is sharing his toys and the others are remembering to thank him for it.”

Coulson doesn’t change his expression at all. Instead, he does leans forward, resting his forearms on the table and letting them take his weight, easing the pressure on his chest. “Normally, Maria, I’d indulge in this little game until you said something incriminating, but honestly I need to get back to medical. So let me just make one thing abundantly clear. The Avengers are not to be used as pawns in your little power struggle with Fury and the WSC. They are _mine_ , and they are off limits.”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean,” Hill says in a tone so dangerous it would likely make Fury himself reconsider.

It makes Coulson hesitate, but he has evaluated and re-evaluated this strategy and yes, SHIELD agents value sneakiness and subtlety, and Coulson can be as subtle and insinuating as the best of them, but sometimes the time comes to lay your cards on the table and state your intentions. He barely hesitates. “The WSC doesn’t want the Avengers to have as much autonomy as they do, and you… you’ve never been exactly pro-human plus, have you, Agent Hill?”

“If you are accusing me of disloyalty to SHIELD-”

Coulson holds up a hand. “I am not accusing you of disloyalty at all. I am well aware that you would never do anything against what you believed to be SHIELD’s best interest. Equally, you would never act against Nick himself.” He leans forward again, and, though his expression doesn’t change, he knows his eyes grow colder. “But you agree with the WSC. And you think sowing internal problems amongst the Avengers will cause them to be problematic enough that Nick will have to come around to your way of thinking.”

This time, it is Hill that hesitates, considering. “And won’t it?”

“Agent Hill,” Coulson says softly, patiently. “I will have no qualms in eviscerating you with a teaspoon if you attempt to mess with my team again. Whether or not I am present, conscious, or even alive. And I will do it as a personal favour - before one of the other Avengers gets their hands on you.” She tilts her head, eyes glittering. “This is not an idle threat,” Coulson adds calmly, and Hill’s teeth click shut.

There is a long silence while the pair simply look at each other. Neither is breathing heavily, nor glaring, both too well trained for that, but Coulson can feel the adrenaline singing through his veins, as though  this is the middle of a particularly satisfying fight. He sees Hill’s shoulder flex minutely, and his feels own fingers twitch in response. If she goes for her sidearm, he damn well intends to draw his too - even if his injury ensures she will be faster.

After a long, evaluating moment, Hill leans back in her chair, an amused smirk on her lips. “Is that all, Agent Coulson?”

“Do we understand each other, Maria?”

The sneer widens. “We understand one another just _fine_ , Phil.”

Coulson nods his head and stands, straightening his jacket. “Then I won’t take up any more of your time.” Turning his back feels unwise, but he nonetheless turns to leave.

“Phil,” she interrupts, before he reaches the door.

Coulson turns. Hill’s sneer is still in place, but it is sweeter now, poisoned honey. “Yes?” he says mildly, because he faced down legions of Hydra agents and Iron Monger and a demi-god and Pepper Potts at her most vengeful, and he’s damn sure he’s not afraid of Maria Hill.

“Are you aware that more handlers have been accused of being compromised through over attachment to their assets than mind control and defection put together?”

He doesn’t acknowledge the threat, instead favouring Hill with his very blandest smile. “That’s interesting.”

“I’m just saying, Phil…be careful.”

He nods again. The warning is a threat, but it’s also something more, there’s something deeper in her eyes. Even without Hill, the WSC will go after the Avengers and he has just categorically nailed his colours to their flagpole. If he does this, he will go down with them. He understands what Hill cannot – _will not_ – say. “I will. I’ll try. But I mean it, Maria. Don’t mess with them – or I will not be the one who has to be careful.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Hill belatedly defends herself, sounding exasperated. “Stark and Rogers are oil and water, you’d have more luck mixing-”

“Barton and Romanov?” Coulson suggests with a small chuckle.

Hill scowls. She alone knows what he’s referring to. Hill was the other Agent on what had been a three man operation to bring down the Black Widow. She knows how diametrically opposed Clint and Natasha are and how that hasn’t stopped them from becoming SHIELD’s most formidable power couple. “I was going to say acid and potassium. And Stark brings it on himself.”

Coulson’s lips curl humourlessly, “Doubtless. So does Barton, I don’t tolerate that either.”

Hill sighs and turns back to her paperwork. “Go on then, Phil, go and be the Avengers’ white knight, or babysitter or handler, whatever term you prefer, but don’t come crying to me when it all goes wrong.”

It’s almost a joke, and it’s the best he’s likely to get. He doesn’t say goodbye, just leaves the office with a studiedly steady walk that doesn’t betray how badly he’s aching, how much he wants a rest and a cup of something hot. He clicks the door shut behind him and walks away without looking back. 


	13. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

**Cuts and Bruises**

“So, I’m trying not to judge, I really am, but Steve, - even you must realise that _that_ is not an appropriate outfit to wear… well, anywhere, really,” Tony says, and tries to restrain his smirk at Cap’s startled jump. He obviously hadn’t realised Tony was standing there, so intent had he been on making his way noiselessly through the media room. He’d actually been doing quite well at that – not as well as Natasha, but hey, he’s just a super soldier, not a creepy assassin. But the whatever–it-is he’s wearing doesn’t exactly lend itself to stealth. It’s practically fluorescent.

Steve says nothing, just stares at him. Tony’s fingers tap once, twice at his Arc reactor, then a third time when he catches Steve tracking the motion, before pulling his hand away and dropping it at his side. _Steve isn’t going to hurt me_ , he reminds himself again. Steve didn’t even look when he’d had the perfect chance to see Tony’s weakness up close. And right now, he actually believes that. Steve looks too ridiculous to be a threat. He can’t help the way his grin widens as Steve shuffles his feet and looks down, then up, and finally drags a hand over his face, peeling off the shiny blue mask-thing he’s wearing to reveal a very red face underneath.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Seriously, I need an answer as to why you are creeping about wearing a shiny fetish version of your suit.”

Steve looks around again, like he’s hoping a convenient portal to throw himself into will open up if he wishes hard enough. It won’t, Tony’s pretty sure of that - he’s wished for a spatial anomaly to swallow him more times than he can count and it hasn’t yet. Not except that one time he flew into one carrying a nuke anyway, and that was in a totally different context.

“I, um…” Steve starts, and then trails off into mumbling.

Tony furrows his brow and tries to parse the jumbled noises into words that make sense. Nothing.

“Sorry, Cap, you’re gonna have to say that again for me,” he says, smiling cheerfully.

“Tony…” Steve groans, his face growing somehow redder.

“Or, hey, don’t. We should totally stand here arguing about whether or not you should tell me. Maybe Bruce’ll wander in to help me mock you. We’re supposed to be ordering pizza.” It’s a lie. Bruce isn’t even in the tower. He’s gone to some meditation class thingy, it sounded boring so Tony didn’t remember whatever it was.

Nonetheless, the ploy works. Steve makes a weird expression and says, “Iwasdoingakid’sbirthdayparty.”

It still doesn’t make a lot of sense. “Slowly, Cap.”

Steve scowls this time. “You’re messing with me. You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Maybe.” Tony gives Steve his best asshole media smirk, “But you’re going to say it again in the hope that I’ll get bored before someone else turns up and sees you dressed like… I don’t even know what you look like. A really patriotic Christmas decoration?”

Steve obviously agrees with the sentiment and gives a wry snort of grudging amusement. “I was doing a kid’s birthday party,” he says, avoiding Tony’s eyes. “I’m uh… a kids’ entertainer. This is my party Captain America costume.”

Tony blinks. This will need a moment to process. Even now that he’s heard all the words, it still doesn’t make a lot of sense. “Seriously? _Why_?”

“Oh, well… you know, it’s good for community spirit.”

Even from Captain Earnestness, that sounds like a flimsy excuse. Tony narrows his eyes. “Huh. I wouldn’t have thought dealing with dozens of sugar high kids, all squealing to be around Captain America, would be even _your_ slightly-suspect idea of a good time.”

Steve looks for a second like he’s going to snap something sickeningly sincere. _I didn’t say it was fun, I said it was good for community spirit_ , perhaps.But he doesn’t.  Instead, Steve just sighs and runs a hand through sweat darkened hair. “It’s actually not,” he sighs, sounding reluctant.

“Then why do it?” Tony asks again, now totally at a loss. He knows, intimately, what the kinds of kids who have Captain America at their birthday party are like.

Steve shrugs. “I have the time. Natasha and Clint are at SHIELD a lot, and you have,” he waves a hand vaguely, “building stuff to get on with. I… Well, when there’s an Avengers call out I have stuff, but other than that…” Tony can detect no hint of a lie in his tone, though there is something, some shadow of unease beneath his all-American-boy-doing-a-good-deed facade.

“Steve…Steve are you _lonely_?” Tony cringes a little at his incredulous tone, belatedly trying to soften it with a smile.

Steve doesn’t take offense, but he does turn away, face shuttering. He says nothing.

Tony doesn’t think, just acts. He pushes into Steve’s space, hands on his biceps and forcing his way close, closer than he has ever been to any of them by choice outside of the Iron Man suit since the night Clint punched him. “No,” he says firmly. “No, absolutely not. Captain fucking America doesn’t get to be so desperate for company that he dresses in that monstrosity. You look like a gay stripper version of Captain America, and that’s probably treason or something. You… we’ll find something. You can come and hang out with me in the workshop and teach DUM-E how not to break _everything_ he picks up.”

“I _can’t,_ Tony!” says Steve, wrenching away.

Tony crashes back to reality. He’s doing it again, the thing that made them all hate him before, and Rhodey already fixed this mess once, he can’t fuck it sideways again, not this soon. He steps back from Steve, arms defensively raised. How could he be so _stupid_? Of course Steve thinks kids’ birthday parties are better than hanging out with him. Still, he will not have his dad’s old army buddy, Captain America, one of the Avengers, humiliating himself in public in that garish outfit doing something he obviously hates.

“Yeah, well obviously,” Tony scoffs, acknowledging Steve’s reluctance. It’s not like he _expected_ Steve to want to after all, not even if he had thought they’d been doing better. “The workshop’s boring, I get that. But the Maria Stark Foundation has a bunch of charities you could help out at, and at least you’d be hanging out with adults, not with nine year olds, and I can-”

“Tony-”

“Or,” and Tony’s voice has taken on the familiar plaintive tinge that he hates, “I know you hate taking things from me, but there are other charities that I have nothing to do with. I’m sure Agent could help you find something. And there’re art classes, you like sketching, you could do that. Or join a gym and make everyone else feel inadequate when you break the treadmill - ”

“ _Tony_.” Steve cuts him off, choked and tense, and looks Tony dead in the eyes. The sincerity gushing out of him is like a cloying blanket, and Tony feels a bit like he should salute. “Tony, I’m not doing this for fun. Okay? I _swear_ I would rather be down in the workshop with you – I’m not brushing you off or ignoring you like I was, y’know… before. But I _have_ to do this. It’s not… I have to. Will you believe that?”

Tony looks at him. He wishes he could do that x-ray stare Natasha does, the one that makes it so obvious she’s reading your secrets like they’re written in 36 point font across your forehead that you end up just discussing them with her. He can’t, but he does stare until Steve shifts uncomfortably. “You’re…under orders to be a children’s party entertainer?”

Steve shifts again, worrying the blue mask and the painted cardboard shield in his hands.. “Yes,” he says.

It’s not _quite_ right. He sounds like Rhodey does when he’s not quite lying, but when he’s saying classified and ‘not superhero business’ and close enough. Tony’s never exactly been known for leaving things alone at ‘close enough’ though, but before he can push harder, Steve interrupts him.

“I’d really like to go and shower, Tony, if you’re done with your interrogation?” The words are light and teasing, but there’s a desperate undercurrent to them that has Tony stepping away from the door instinctively, expansively gesturing Steve through it. He scurries for the exit, but pauses when he’s level with Tony and says, quietly, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the others about this.”

 _Curiouser and curiouser_ Tony thinks, whimsically, but just nods. “Of course not, Cap. Your secret is safe with me.”

*

Tony goes to find Pepper. Honestly, since this almost-order to get Steve into that outfit probably comes from SHIELD, Coulson’s probably a better source of information. But Coulson is probably one of the _others_ Steve had meant, and Tony had meant it when he said he wouldn’t tell. He’s not known for his discretion, but he can keep a secret when he needs to. Pepper, however, _definitely_ doesn’t count.

“Are SHIELD being dicks about Clint, and making Steve do PR shit to keep the team?” he asks, strolling through the doors to Pepper’s office.

Three men in suits, pouring over some charts which look very boring, look surprised at his entrance, and the seemingly random question. Pepper, however, sighs through her nose and gives Tony that smile, the one that means _I am imagining all the many ways I could hurt you with my shoe_. “Tony, I’m in a meeting right now.”

“It’s cool,” Tony says, planting himself on a swivel chair in the corner that doesn’t have the right number of wheels and lists alarmingly, “I’ll wait.” Pepper knows waiting isn’t his strong suit - he’d bet everything he owns she’ll have this meeting concluded in ten minutes or less.

It takes her twelve minutes to hustle the men out of the office, all of them throwing Tony disgruntled and confused looks,. before she finally turns to him. “This had better be extremely important, Tony. I need those projection figures sorted if I’m going to allocate the budget for all the projects you’re interested in.”

“It is important!” Tony scowls. As if he’s come in here and asked Pepper unimportant questions! He’s never done that. Well… not this week. She raises an eyebrow and he suspects arguing this point is not going to achieve anything. Instead, he repeats his earlier question. “Are SHIELD being dicks about Clint, or about… me, and making Steve do PR shit to keep us on the team?”

“I… not as far as I know. Why?” Pepper’s voice sharpens. “Have SHIELD threatened you?”

“ _No_ , nothing like that. But you’ll never guess what I caught Steve wearing, and he said he’d been an entertainer at a kids party. He implied it wasn’t, uh, voluntary.”

To his very great surprise, Pepper gives him an extremely unkind smirk. “Good, he’s doing it. I wasn’t sure if he’d go through with it.”

Tony gapes at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, after all that about you not being a proper Avenger and the way Steve Rogers treated you, I thought I’d have a little payback.”

“Um. Payback?” Tony repeats blankly, determinedly ignoring the squirmy happy feeling appearing in his chest, because it is definitely not okay that Pepper has done this. “Pepper. Pep. What did you do?”

Pepper examines her nails with studied carelessness. “I charged him rent.”

“You can’t. He… the Avengers own the tower.”

“They do indeed. Unfortunately, Rogers doesn’t know that. He is under the impression that as CEO of your company I can overturn that decision on an SI property.”  

Tony’s expression twists, landing somewhere between amused and horrified; an expression she’s more accustomed to seeing on her own face than on his. “Pepper… you’re not… you _can’t_ be… Pepper Potts, are you _extorting money from Captain America_?”

Pepper gives Tony a slow, calm, smile. “Yes.”

“That’s…” Tony blinks, and says the first thing which comes to mind. “That’s almost certainly illegal. I’ve corrupted you.”

Pepper gives an unladylike snort.

“You have to give it back. It’s… well, it’s theft.”

Pepper sighs, looking vaguely disappointed. “Of course I’m going to give it back. When I’m good and ready. And when Rogers has suffered enough.”

“He _has_ ,” Tony says, fervently. “You haven’t seen the outfit he was dressed in. Why is he giving kids parties by the way? There have to be other jobs.”

“Do you have any idea what a floor on a property like the tower is worth?”

Tony gives a short nod, more to show that he’s heard her than anything else. He’s already talking again. “And what about Clint and Natasha? Not that I _want_ you to, just-”

“I’m charging them all rent,” Pepper says, with an icy, knife sharp calmness that makes him swallow, “but I believe Captain Rogers is covering it.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “Of course he is.”

“If that’ll be all, Mr. Stark?”

He fixes her with an appraising stare of his own and ignores the familiar question. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper sighs, and the familiar lead feeling that he’s somehow disappointed her again ripples through him like a wave. “I’m doing it because I’m your friend and he _hurt_ you.”

Tony flushes dully at the intensity to her voice when she says _hurt_. She’s not wrong, but he likes to believe he’s impenetrable, not that all his wounds and scars and pains are visible for people to see. It’s the thing he hates the most about the Arc reactor. “Yes, but-”

“What would you do if I wanted someone to like me, and they turned up and told me I wasn’t good enough to be friends with them?”

Even the thought makes Tony’s blood boil. Pepper’s better than anyone, there’s no one who’s too good for her, and anyone that even implied that to be the case would find themselves on the wrong end of expertly wielded repulsors and a digital destruction campaign that would make sure they were never eligible to hold a bank card, car, house or job ever again. But he knows that’s the answer she wants, so he  says instead, “It’s not the same, Pep. You’re… _you_ , and I’m just-”

She holds up a finger sharply. “Do not finish that sentence, Tony. You are not _just_ anything.”

“But-”

“No!”

“But-”

“But nothing, Tony. I mean it.”

He sighs, but secretly he’s pleased. “Alright, fine. I’m not just anything. Can you stop trolling Steve now? Before you go too far down the road of supervillainy? I can’t deal with you as a super villain, Pepper, and it’ll ruin the stock prices.”

Pepper gives him the same searching stare as before. “You really want that? You don’t just think that it’ll make him like you if you get me to stop?”

He’ll never get used to being read so easily. But Tony thinks about the cold hard disdain in Rogers’ eyes while he told him he was everything wrong with the century, the way everything he offered was thrown back in his face with scorn, the penguins Clint stole for him, that Steve trusts him to keep his secrets, and the way neither of them looked when his heart was removed and there was nothing but a gaping hole in his chest in the middle of the street.

“I’m sure. It’s not… it’s not perfect. But I want to try. I want to try and make the Avengers work, and we can’t do that if I’m holding old grudges, can we? None of them blame me for the blood on my hands from before Iron Man.”

She gives him a small smile, soft and proud. “Look at that. Emotional maturity from Tony Stark.”

“Urg!” Tony gives a theatrical shiver. “Don’t tell anyone, it’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. And I’ll call Steve later to arrange a meeting, and get this all sorted out.”

Tony gives her an impish smile and a wave of the hand and fumbles in his pocket for the sunglasses he uses to hide his eyes. “That’ll be all, Ms. Potts,” he sings out and heads for the door.


	14. Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

**Cuts and Bruises**

 

It takes a few days to find the perfect time to confront Fury, but eventually Coulson manages it. He takes coffee with him, because he needs bait for his trap, and enters Fury’s office unannounced, dropping into the seat in front of the desk and pushing the more chipped of the two mugs across to Fury. He doesn’t say a word, only sips from his own mug patiently and waits. It doesn’t take long; Fury actually isn’t very good at dealing with Coulson’s special brand of bland silence. Within a few seconds he finds himself being glared at balefully by a single, angry eye. “Problem?”

“No sir,” Coulson says serenely, and takes another sip of his coffee. He took pains to add extra milk to it, so that it’s cool enough to do exactly this.

Fury grunts, and goes back to pretending to scratch some notes out. He’s not doing a very good job of it; even from where he’s sitting Coulson can see that he’s just doodling. He says nothing, and after less than a minute Fury glares at him again. “Why are you here, exactly?”

Coulson takes a great deal of pleasure in not changing his expression by a single millimetre. “I can’t bring an old friend coffee?”

He takes even more pleasure in the choked sound Fury makes as he takes a large swallow of his own (not helpfully cool ) coffee. “I don’t have time for your bullshit, Phil.”

“Bullshit, sir?” Coulson enquires politely. People think Clint’s the smartass - they forget he must have learned from somewhere who and how he can push. Fury looks about three seconds from throwing the cup of coffee in his face and Coulson suppresses a smirk, hiding his expression behind the rim of his own mug, before putting it aside.

“I have a couple of questions. Sir.” This time, the ‘sir’ is a very deliberate afterthought.

“You want to know what I was playing at with Stark.” It isn’t a question, and Coulson’s expression doesn’t change . “You do realise I don’t have to justify myself to you, right, Agent?”

“Of course not, sir, and I would never dream of asking you to. Ours is not to question why. Of course, since I’m still not cleared for active duty, I can bring you a new coffee every hour or so, means your assistant has more time to get through his actual work. And, you know Nick, my chest is still healing. I’d need to sit here to rest afterwards.”

“That is a singularly unsubtle threat.”

Coulson nods. “I’ll bear that recommendation in mind, sir. But you do owe me something for desecrating my Captain America cards.”

“Do I now? Stark bought you new ones.”

“You had no idea he was going to do that when you were dipping my several thousand dollar collection in my blood.”

Fury twists his mouth. “Please, I had to go and get your cards out of your locker; I didn’t exactly have time to go down to the medical wing. It’s not your blood.”

“Ah. Well that makes it all better then.”

They regard one another in silence. Fury takes another, more restrained sip of his drink, then gives a weak laugh. “You’re really not going anywhere until I tell you, are you Phil?”

“Not without orders, no. And I am very creative about following orders when the situation calls for it, if I remember my last annual review correctly. These are my assets, sir.”

“ _Your_ assets? I’m going to give the Avengers to Hill just to teach you a lesson.”

Coulson relaxes back in his chair, stretching his legs out. “If you assign anyone but me to Captain America, I will shoot you. There have to be some perks to this job. And _Hill_ will shoot you if you saddle her with Barton. Barton _and_ Stark.”

“Hmmm.” Fury makes a show of considering. “I could make the field promotion I gave to Sitwell permanent.”

“Romanov would have him twisted around her finger in a week.”

They both lapse into silence again, and Coulson focuses his attention back on his mug. It makes Fury twitch. “You’re really going to sit here all day?”

“And tomorrow too if you make me, sir,” Coulson says cheerfully.

Fury huffs and gets up from his desk, pacing around it until he can look out of the window. “It was a slight miscalculation.” Coulson says nothing. Nicholas Fury wrote the book on interrogation resistance, but he’s never been able to resist Coulson’s wide open silences. Predictably, he continues. “The WSC didn’t want Stark on the team. They couldn’t go after me, so they decided it was Stark who had undermined them with the missile thing.”

Coulson nods, filling in the blanks for himself. Fury had been busy fighting for the Avengers Initiative in its entirety and simply hadn’t had the resources to devote to fighting for Stark’s place on the team as well. “You were relying on the Captain to insist on having him so you could bow to his insistence and say you had no choice.”

Fury’s hand flexes minutely against his side and he stares out of the window, though whether he’s looking at the city scape, his own reflection, or nothing at all, Coulson can’t tell. At last he continues. “Stark was going to ask them to move in anyway, and I remember the army. Living in proximity like that…it forges bonds.”

Coulson considers that for a second, and then nods. He can see how that seemed reasonable. “But why the deadline,” he pushes. “Why the order at all? If Stark was going to offer anyway…” Nick Fury is many things, but not impatient.

“I needed them out of _here_ ,” he growls. “As long as they were under SHIELD’s roof, we had jurisdiction over them, and much as I might like to believe it, Phil, I can’t possibly plan for every contingency. Quartered in private residence, Avengers first before they were SHIELD agents, and Rogers still a largely unproven factor…it was the best short notice protection I could give.”

Coulson forces himself straighter in his chair, ignoring the white hot pain that lances from shoulder to hip. “There was an immediate threat?”

Fury half turns, and quirks a very slight smile. “No. Don’t worry yourself. It was just a hunch, but I needed them out of here and somewhere where the WSC had no power. Any safe house wouldn’t do, and any place they paid for themselves wouldn’t be secure. Stark’s, on the other hand…” Fury sighs and runs a gloved thumb over his knuckles. Phil’s eyes follow the tell and Fury stops, turning away once again. “Any reasonable deadline would have had them showing up with a grudge against Stark, an impossible deadline,” his voice goes lower, takes an ironic tone, “I thought they’d just cast me as the villain. ‘Overbearing military who cares nothing about his individual soldiers’ is something I can play.”

Against all logic, it’s that which actually riles Coulson’s anger. “You do Romanov and Barton a disservice, assuming their loyalty is that fickle.”

Fury turns away from the glass and eyes him narrowly. “I have this buddy, a real dork. He’s obsessed with Captain America this guy and he told me – continuously, for the better part of thirty seven years – that Steven Rogers always fights for the underdog. I gave him one to fight for. I went _out of my way_ to make Stark a more obvious victim that your average starving African child in a charity appeal.”

The disappointment in the Captain’s obvious failure doesn’t cut anywhere near as deep as Clint’s actions. He hasn’t been a child in a very long time. He knows the Captain he idolised is a propaganda ideal, canonised by an untimely and heroic death. He can understand that in real life, Steve Rogers is as human as the rest of them under Captain America’s cowl. “But he didn’t take your bait?”

“He did not.” Fury snorts softly. “Which is pretty fucking incredible, because have you seen the big sad eyes Stark pulls? I’ve seen animal shelter puppies that can’t pack that much pathos into a soulful glance.”

“Yes, well,” Coulson steels himself. “He isn’t entirely to blame. Barton and Romanov are trained experts in body language and manipulation. One of them should have realised.”

“Romanov might have eventually. I would never have pulled her for that mission if we hadn’t needed her unique skillset so desperately. As for Barton…” Fury makes a face and shuffles a few papers on the desk. “I only let Rogers put him on the team because I wanted him to be sure that if he put his foot down and fought to get someone he’d get them, with minimal problems. I wouldn’t go too hard on Barton, Phil - whatever mindfuck that Asgardian bastard put him through, he took it hard.”

“Why didn’t you have him… taken care of? It isn’t SHIELD policy to let previously compromised agents back in.”

“Taking out Barton means losing Romanov. She may have just left, but more likely she’d have caused as much damage as she could on her way out. There’s every possibility that she’d go back to working against us. We were already shorthanded from Loki’s attack, and I think we can say that magical mind control is without a doubt not the agent in question’s fault.”

That sounds very reasonable, but it’s definitely a lie. Coulson goes back to his tried and trusted method of falling silent and calmly regarding the dust motes in the air.

Fury sighs and adds, “Besides, I already ruined your trading cards. If I had started shooting your favourite assets you’d have been pissed, and you’re a pain in the ass when you’re sulking.”

Coulson offers him a small but genuine smile, knowing that’s the closest to emotional he’s ever likely to hear from Nick Fury. “Thanks.”

Fury waves a hand and pushes a thick document file towards him. “Since you’ve apparently got nothing better to do, you can go through these security schematics. No one man should be able to nearly take down my helicarrier, even if he is the amazing Hawkeye.”


	15. Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the wake of the pain and shattered friendships caused by acting on their misunderstandings, can the Avengers ever really be a team? Third part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, massive amounts of guilty!Steve, misconceptions, some swearing, penguins – blame Cyberbutterfly, when I wrote it, it was a joke, she made me go through with it.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), beginning of friendship, distrust between the Avengers.  
> Beta: Melpemone  
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.

**Cuts and Bruises**

 

Movie nights are not uncommon in the tower. Nowadays, Tony can usually be coaxed into attending, which means Bruce is significantly less wary of them, and all round this just makes them so much more comfortable. It is both a surprise and a disappointment when Thor walks into the room - eyes flitting over Bruce in the arm chair, Natasha and Clint sprawled stomach down and side by side on the beanbags, and Steve in the corner of the two seater - and shakes his head. “Tony is busy in his forge, and says he does not have time to attend our gathering.”

There is a tense hum of uncertainty. Honestly, by this point in their acquaintance, they’ve all been too busy to attend one of these nights at one time or another, but the wounds are still too raw for any of them to feel comfortable all gathered like this, but with Tony still in the tower and noticeably absent from their ranks.

Bruce makes a hesitant noise. “Maybe I should head down to the labs and check on him.”

Thor shakes his head, blond hair whipping about like a L’Oréal ad. “I do not believe he harbours bad feelings. He did not intimate that he begrudged us this. He seemed genuinely consumed in his work.”

“Still,” Steve says, “the film will still be here another night.”

“No.” It’s Clint who speaks up. “He’s… he’s already not sure if we put him on the team because we pity him. If we cancel what we were going to do just because he’s busy, he’ll be even surer of it, and it’ll be even harder to convince him to trust us.”

Bruce looks like he’s about to say something scathing, but at Thor’s look he does not. Instead, he turns his attention towards the blank screen. “All right. Play it, JARVIS.”

The screen flickers into life as Thor takes his space on the longer sofa behind Clint and Natasha, and they all lapse into silence, painfully aware of the unfilled space on the sofa. Steve conspicuously slings his legs over the space to keep it from seeming so empty.

Everyone is sprawled out watching the second movie of the night when Tony just happens past the door. Natasha can tell by the soft tread of his feet that he’s not trying to be quiet or unheard, and can tell that he genuinely doesn’t know they are there. She knows the exact moment he sees them because he stops moving. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t flinch - merely reaches for another handful of popcorn from the bowl in Thor’s lap. Beside her, she feels Clint stiffen, though his posture gives no trace of it and she knows he has heard Tony too. Inside, she is yearning as desperately as she has ever hoped for anything for Tony to join them, for him to take his rightful place among them. They still won’t be complete, Coulson isn’t here tonight, because, even though he has been released from the med-wing, he is still not really well enough to travel, and Tony’s absence is a wound and a condemnation.

Natasha takes a moment to be glad none of the others have noticed him, though his longing gaze sears into her like a brand. If anyone asked him he would join, of course he would. That Tony now believes they really do want to spend time with him, that their insistence on his presence is not misplaced guilt and pity was a big step. But now he needs to realise that it is his _right_ to saunter in and sit among them.

Beside her, Clint has all but stopped breathing, waiting with the unnatural stillness of a statue, or a sniper. She knows he is no longer watching the action on the screen, and when she slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into her, she can feel his heartbeat racing. He looks at her and she widens her eyes, reminding him without words of his earlier point. Face safely turned into her shoulder, and hidden from even the sharpest eyes, she feels his lips tighten unhappily. But he trusts her judgement, in this as in everything else, and he is sure that he has done the right thing by insisting they carry on. The tension doesn’t drain out of him, but he turns his eyes back towards the TV, and waits.

The still presence at the door is beginning to unnerve Natasha now, raising the hairs on the back of her head as she fights not to look, to appear disinterested. She has never known Tony Stark to remain so quiet, or still for this length of time. She forces herself not to fidget, but she can’t stop her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against Clint’s chest where she is still holding him to her, keeping herself still as much as keeping him in place.

Tony shifts in place, foot scuffing against the carpet and nudging the doorway with a soft sound. Steve turns sharply, startled, as do the others when Tony moves, but before he can say anything Tony pushes away from the doorframe and strolls confidently into the room, as though he had been intending to do it all the time. His veneer of cock-surety is threadbare and worn, vulnerability and uncertainty fairly oozing from him, despite his straight back and square shoulders and bright smile, and she wasn’t certain if he truly had just been working up the nerve to do this, or if he had simply reacted to being seen. Either way, he stops in the middle of the room and addresses them all, though his body is cocked slightly towards Steve, addressing him the most calmly. “Room for one more?”

Clint opens his mouth, but Natasha pinches his arm sharply, keeping him silent. It is not Clint’s approval Tony wants - his approval will change nothing that is damaged between them all.

Bruce is watching Steve, mouth set in an unhappy line, but eyes are his usual brown.

As for Natasha herself, she is simply hoping that Steve is as good with his people as he wants to be. The time for guilt-ridden statements has been and gone, and will only serve to make Tony uncomfortable now. But Steve doesn’t disappoint. He smiles lazily and returns his attention to the action on the screen, shifting further up the sofa to make room for Tony. “Pull up a pew. There’s plenty of space.”

Tony glances around, not obviously. Natasha can appreciate the skill with which he searches the room for anyone else’s disapproval of his presence. There is none, of course, and he drops gracelessly into the space Steve has made for him.

The tension, humming around the room, is very nearly palpable. But the movie is good, and the snacks plentiful, and gradually everyone relaxes into their previous sprawls. Even Tony starts to relax a little, sinking back into the cushions behind him. Hidden in the dark, far enough to the side that her face is not illuminated by the light of the screen, Natasha looks around her fractured, but healing team, and allows herself a smile.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through all of this.
> 
> For those who don't know, I have recently moved to China and taking a teaching job. That doesn't mean this series will be discontinued, it will still be seven parts and various additions, but posting may be a bit slower. From now on, I will be posting regularly every Monday instead of when I get around it.
> 
> Also, another huge thank you to Melpemone who has patiently beta-ed this monster and didn't even hesitate before agreeing to take on part four. I couldn't have done it without her, and all remaining mistakes are mine.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Cuts and Bruises](https://archiveofourown.org/works/845640) by [kerravon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerravon/pseuds/kerravon), [lilsmartass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass)




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